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AUTHOR: 


MORELL,  JOHN 


.M.      M-     M..      M..^  M..  .^    m 


PHILOSOPHICAL 


PLACE: 


LONDON 


DATE: 


1878 


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Morell,  'J^ohn^  D^aniel^   1316-91 

PhiloBophioal  fragments,  written  during  in- 
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raritten  tiuring  Inttrbate  of  JSusinejss 


BY 


J.     D.     M  OR  ELL,    LL.D. 


»  * 


LONDON:    LONGMANS    &    CO. 

1878 


\ 


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II  -415"3 


i, 


« 


PREFACE. 


THE  following  '  Fragments '  have  been  written,  either 
wholly  or  in  part,  at  various  intervals  during  the  last 
ten  or  fifteen  years,  chiefly  as  affording  a  little  intellectual 
recreation  and  some  change  of  Ideas  from  the  ordinary  duties 
of  school  inspection.  They  follow,  for  the  most  part,  the 
lines  of  thought  I  had  previously  taken  up  in  my  Historical 
and  Critical  View  of  the  Speculative  Philosophy  of  Europe  in 
the  Nineteenth  Century^  and  subsequently  in  my  Introduction 
to  Mental  Philosophy  on  the  Inductive  Method. 

A  portion  of  Chapter  IV.  appeared  in  an  article  written 
for  the  *  Manchester  Papers^  and  also  from  a  translation  I 
wrote  and  published  of  a  small  work  on  psychology  by 
Prof.  Fichte,  then  of  Tubingen.  With  this  exception,  the 
matter  is  entirely  new. 

Since  the  Historical  and  Critical  View  was  written,  a  great 
change  has  passed  over  the  whole  complexion  of  European 
thought.  The  revolutions  which  began  in  France  just  before 
the  middle  of  the  century,  and  which  passed  throughout 
Europe  like  a  great  political  storm,  left  an  indelible  impres- 
sion upon  the  whole  current  of  European  literature.  In 
France,  the  period  of  Louis  Philippe  was  distinguished  by 
great  intellectual  activity,  more  especially  in  the  department 


t 


IV 


Preface, 


oF  philosophy.  On  the  side  of  Eclecticism  there  were 
Cousin,  Jouffroi,  Jules  Simon,  Damiron,  Barth^lemy  St. 
Hilaire,  and  a  host  of  others,  all  striving  to  combat  the 
reigning  materialism  and  bring  back  the  current  of  philo- 
sophic thought  into  more  spiritualistic  channels.  Opposed 
to  these  stood  the  school  of  positivism  as  fashioned  by 
Comte  and  expounded  by  Littrd.  On  the  side  of  Sociology 
the  school  of  Fourier  was  then  in  the  ascendency,  and 
numbered  men  of  the  highest  ability  amongst  its  expounders. 
All  these  lights,  which  were  guiding  the  national  mind  in 
the  research  of  truth,  were  extinguished  by  the  revolution 
that  led  to'^the  Second  Empire,  and  never  reappeared  as  a 
popular  influence. 

The  succeeding  revolution  in  Germany  had  much  the 
same  effect.  Hegelianism  had  just  then  reached  the 
summit  of  its  glory,  and  in  the  hands  of  the ' Jung-hegelianer' 
was  showing  symptoms  of  a  reaction  towards  the  opposite 
pole  of  thought.  The  political  agitation  achieved  the 
entire  overthrow  of  that  form  of  idealism  which  had  been  a 
power  in  the  country  ever  since  the  time  of  Fichte.  It 
sank  away  not  under  the  blows  of  adverse  controversy,  but 
under  the  more  killing  effects  of  popular  indifference ;  and 
since  that  time  no  reigning  school  of  thought  has  sprung 
up  to  take  its  place.  In  the  following  pages  the  fortunes 
of  the  modern  school  of  German  philosophy  are  briefly 
traced,  and  their  history  brought  down  to  the  present  day. 
This  forms  the  subject  of  the  first  part. 

The  chief  feature  of  the  philosophy  of  the  present  is  the 
tendency  everywhere  shown  to  bring  all  human  investigation 
into  the  form  of  natural  and  inductive  science,  and  the 


Preface.  v 

question  naturally  arises — whether  the  inductive  method  is 
not,  after  all,  the  real  and  proper  method  for  the  human 
intellect  to  follow  even  in  the  most  recondite  and  meta- 
physical researches.  The  purport  of  the  chapter  on  the 
theory  of  human  knowledge,  which  is  marked  as  Part  II.,  is 
mainly  to  expound  and  confirm  this  one  idea. 

Part  III.  is  an  attempt  to  show  the  application  of  some 
of  the  modern  doctrines  of  psychology  to  the  principles 
of  education.  It  consists  of  three  lectures  which  were  in- 
tended to  be  delivered  to  an  association  of  teachers  and 
educationists,  but  from  a  variety  of  circumstances  never 
were  delivered,  at  least  in  the  form  here  presented.  The 
fact  of  their  having  been  written  for  the  ear  rather  than  the 
eye,  will  account  for  the  style  being  more  *  oratorical '  than 
would  have  been  natural  and  proper  in  a  purely  didactic 
treatise. 

This,  then,  is  a  brief  inventory  of  the  matter  contained  in 
the  following  *  Fragments.*  They  are  now  published  with 
the  hope  that  they  may  be  of  some  interest  to  the  few  who 
shall  continue  to  devote  attention  to  the  most  unpopular  of 
all  the  sciences. 

J.  D.  MORELL. 

Folkestone,  1878. 


1                                  CONTENTS. 

• 

H                                                                                              ▼ 

1                                                      PART  I. 

■                                             HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 

I 

PAGE 

I                    Chap   i      Historical   Outline  of  the   Rise   and   Progress  of 

■                                              Philosophical  Speculation,         .... 

I 

1                    Chap.  II. — Leibnitz  and  his  School, 

20 

H                  Chap.  hi. — Emmanuel  Kant, 

49 

1                   Chap,  iv.— German  Philosophy  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,      . 

S7 

I                                                PART  n. 

I                                                         METAPHYSICS. 

■                      Theory  of  Human  Knowledge, 

153 

1                                                       PART  IIL 

I                                 PSYCHOLOGY  APPLIED  TO  EDUCATION. 

■                    Lecture  i., 

183 

H                   Lecture il, 

210 

B                    Lecture  HI., 

242 

1                                                         POSTSCRIPTUM. 

1                      On  the  Latest  Phase  of  Edward  von  Hartmann's  Philosophy,  . 

261 

PART    I. 


HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  FRAGMENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Historical  Outline  of  the  Rise  and  Progress  of 
Philosophical  Speculatioa 

MAN  in  his  undeveloped  and  uncivilized  state  is 
governed,  like  the  lower  animals,  wholly  by  his 
instincts  and  passiofts.  His  sole  object  is  to  gain  the  neces- 
sary means  of  subsistence,  and,  while  doing  so,  to  gratify 
all  his  natural  appetites.  Placed  in  the  midst  of  the  most 
striking  objects  of  nature,  he  does  not  regard  them  at  first 
with  any  kind  of  intelligent  interest,  but  views  everything 
around  him  merely  as  it  adapts  itself  to  his  physical  wants 
and  enjoyments. 

This  instinctive  condition  of  life  may  last  indefinitely  long, 
and  in  the  case  of  many  tribes  of  mankind  has  never  yet 
been  overcome.  In  the  more  favoured  races,  however,  it 
has  always  given  way,  after  a  certain  period  of  struggle,  to 
an  incipient  civilization ;  and  these  races  have  thus  become 
elevated  one  step  towards  a  higher  and  more  intellectual 
state  of  existence. 

On  emerging  from  barbarism,  men  are  soon  led,  by 
necessity  or  self-interest  or  the  force  of  instinct,  to  unite 
themselves  under  some  primitive  form  of  government,  and 
practise  some  rude  kind  of  religious  worship.  As  a  conse- 
quence of  this,  they  are  held  back  from  the  unbridled  sway 
of  their  impulses  and  passions  by  fear — fear  of  the  law  under 
which  they  live  in  society,  and  fear  of  the  superior  powers 
whom  they  are  taught  to  worship  or  appease.     We  see  here 

A 


2  Philosophical  Fragrnenls, 

accordingly  the  first  elements  of  moral  culture,  consisting, 
as  it  does,  in  a  twofold  restraint,  that  of  religion  and  law. 

The  next  step  in  the  natural  history  of  civilization  is  what 
we  may  designate  the  poetic  stage  of  development.  No 
sooner  does  nature  cease  to  be  simply  the  minister  to  man's 
physical  necessities,  than  she  begins  to  strike  the  mind  with 
wonder  and  admiration.  The  sense  of  natural  beauty  once 
awakened,  the  tide  of  aesthetic  culture  sets  in.  Religion 
passes  from  mere  fetishism  into  the  worship  of  nature ;  lan- 
guage becomes  moulded  into  a  metaphorical  richness  of 
expression ;  poetry  makes  its  appearance,  celebrating  the 
actions  of  heroes,  and  reflecting  (as  in  the  Homeric  verse) 
the  most  striking  phenomena  of  nature  in  rhythmic  song. 
Thus,  in  process  of  time,  artistic  genius  bursts  forth,  and  the 
national  life  reaches  a  high  degree  of  youthful  exuberance. 

But  after  a  time  another  phase  of  human  civilization,  in 
its  turn,  appears.  The  intellect  gains  step  by  step  on  the 
imagination,  and  man,  in  place  of  admiring,  desires  to  com- 
prehend the  world  in  which  he  lives.  The  power  of  thinking 
once  acquired,  the  necessity  of  thinking  grows  out  of  it,  and 
this  necessity  it  is  which  ushers  in  the  era  oi philosophy. 

If  we  cast  our  eye  over  the  page  of  history  with  the  de- 
sign of  fixing  the  period  in  which  the  spirit  of  philosophy 
was  first  awakened,  we  have  to  pass  by  many  generations, 
and  leave  behind  us  many  centres  of  infant  civilization. 
The  ancient  oriental  world,  in  fact,  never  reached  the  philo- 
sophic  stage  of  development  at   all.      It   produced  law, 
government,  ethics,  poetry,  religion,  but  not  science.     It 
contemplated  nature  and  humanity  as  a  wondrous  enigma, 
but  it  never  had  the  energy  of  mind,  in  the  purely  intel- 
lectual sense,  to  propose  a  rational  solution.     The  first  great 
awakening  of  the  pure  spirit  of  intellectual  inquiry  took 
place  among  the  Greeks.     It  was  they  who  first  confronted 
the  problem  of  the  universe,  and  essayed  to  resolve  it.     The 
desire  to  do  this  was  termed  in  their  own  language  Philo- 
sophia^  the  love  of  wisdom ;  and  from  that  hour  philosophy 
has  had  a  history  in  the  world,  reaching  down  in  one  un- 
broken line  to  the  present  age.     The  history  of  philosophy 
divides  itself  naturally  into  three  main  periods — the  ancient, 
the  middle  age,  and  the  modern. 


Historical  Otitline, 


In  seeking  for  the  commencement  of  philosophy  in 
ancient  Greece,  we  are  not  to  look  by  any  means  for  an 
immediate  separation  of  the  poetic  and  religious  elements 
from  the  speculative.  This  could  only  take  place  after 
many  years  of  mental  eff"ort.  For  a  long  time  the  language 
of  poetry  still  remained  the  only  language  of  philosophy; 
and  the  longing  of  the  mind  after  religious  satisfaction  was 
mingled  up  insensibly  with  the  desire  for  intellectual  com- 
pleteness. All  we  have  at  first  to  expect  is  some  well-defined 
effort  in  which  the  imagination  and  the  religious  feelings 
are  held  clearly  subordinate  to  the  rational  exposition  of 
phvsical  or  mental  phenomena. 

The  first  attempt  of  this  kind  is  universally  ascribed  to 
the  effort  made  by  Thales  to  discover  a  primary  element  in 
nature.  There  is  a  passage  in  Goethe's  Treatise  on  the 
Theory  of  Colours,  which  exactly  expresses  the  character  of 
this  primitive  school  of  Grecian  speculation.  *  The  Greeks,' 
he  remarks,  'who  came  over  from  the  region  of  poetry  to 
that  of  physics,  retained  for  a  time  even  there  their  poetical 
character.  They  looked  upon  objects  in  a  concrete  and 
living  point  of  view,  and  felt  constrained  always  to  utter  the 
impressions  of  the  present  moment.  When  they  sought  to 
free  themselves  from  this  by  abstract  thinking,  they  were 
perplexed  (as  every  one  else  is)  how  to  represent  and  explain 
these  phenomena  of  sense  to  the  understanding.  The 
sensuous  accordingly  was  explained  by  the  sensuous,  one 
phenomena  by  another  of  the  same  kind.  They  found 
themselves  thus  in  a  kind  of  circle,  and  pursued  the  inex- 
plicable round  and  round  it.' 

In  other  words,  the  senses  and  the  understanding  were 
both  equally  credited ;  the  intimations  of  both  were  accepted 
with  a  like  trusting  faith,  and  no  attempt  was  made  to 
reconcile  any  apparent  contradictions.  The  idea  of  a  philo- 
sophical 7nethod  was  not  yet  known,  and  the  very  simplest 
criteria  of  truth  and  falsehood  were  unthought  of. 

Under  the  teaching  of  Pythagoras,  this  state  of  things 
soon  came  to  an  end.  It  soon  became  evident  that  there 
must  be  some  kind  of  method  employed  in  the  study  of 
nature,  but  what  that  method  ought  to  be  it  was  not  easy 
to  decide.     The  only  example  which  at  that  early  period 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


existed  of  a  perfectly  consecutive  system  of  ideas,  in  which 
one  truth,  followed  by  a  necessary  consequence  from 
another,  was  seen  in  the  science  of  numbers.  The  rela- 
tions of  numbers,  w^e  know  now,  are  the  simplest  of  all 
relations,  and  consequently  are  those  which  must  inevitably 
be  first  brought  into  the  form  of  a  connected  science. 
Hence  it  was  not  unnatural  that  Pythagoras  should  regard 
the  process  of  numerical  calculation  as  representing  the 
wJiole  method  of  intellectual  research,  and  should  affirm 
that  the  study  of  nature  must  itself  rest  upon  the  principles 
of  number  and  proportion.  Something  like  a  rational 
method  being  once  excogitated,  it  was  sure  to  be  applied 
at  first  to  every  branch  of  human  effort. 

In  the  next  great  school  of  Greek  speculation, — I  mean 
the  Eleatic, — this  Pythagorean  principle  was  put  to  the  test, 
and  broke  down.  It  was  soon  found  that  the  nature  of 
things  is  far  from  being  exhausted  by  the  relations  of  number 
and  proportion;  so  that  numerical  ideas  must  either  be  made 
to  stand  for  something  totally  different  from  what  they 
originally  indicate,  or  the  mathematical  method  must  be 
abandoned  altogether  in  the  study  of  nature.  The  attempt 
of  Parmenides  to  build  up  a  whole  system  of  absolute 
knowledge  upon  the  one  and  the  all^  however  imposing,  yet 
led,  as  a  necessary  consequence,  to  the  separation  between 
sensuous  and  rational  knowledge,  between  science  {i.e.  arith- 
metic) and  philosophy.  The  phenomena  which  nature  pre- 
sented were  too  striking  and  important  to  be  wholly  laid 
aside,  while  the  reason  was  seeking  for  truth  in  mere  abstrac- 
tions ;  and  had  not  the  attractions  of  deductive  certitude  been 
too  great,  the  active  mind  of  Greece  might  easily,  even  thus 
early,  have  been  led  into  the  fruitful  pathway  of  inductive 
investigation. 

As  it  was,  the  prevailing  tone  of  the  Greek  intellect  took 
the  other  road ;  it  sought  for  truth  by  means  of  deductive 
processes ;  it  laboured  to  find  the  way  in  which  one  idea 
could  be  inferred  with  absolute  certainty  from  another; 
and  hoped  to  come  to  some  fixed  philosophic  conclusions 
by  this  distinctive  method.  Thus,  while  the  sophists  abused 
the  principle  of  deduction,  and  strove  to  show  how,  by  a 
clever  handling  of  ideas,  you  can  draw  forth  any  conclusion 


Historical  OiUline,  5 

you  please,  Socrates,  on  the  other  side,  turned  his  eye 
inwards,  and  sought  to  fix,  by  indisputable  canons,  the  un- 
erring principles  by  which  truth— truth  unmixed  with  error 
— can  be  arrived  at  and  established. 

Socrates  himself  started  as  a  sophist ;  but  there  was  m 
his  nature  that  deep  moral  earnestness  which  led  to  the 
conviction  that  truth  and  duty  were  not  an  idle  play  of 
words,  that  sophistry  was  not  synonymous  \i\\S\  wisdom. 
The  ordinary  sophists,  carried  away  by  the  principle  that 
all  scientific  knowledge  consists  in  the  deductive  handling 
of  ideas,  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  'that  man  is  the 
measure  of  all  things;'  that  there  is  no  truth  apart  from 
words ;  and  that  it  depends  entirely  upon  the  skill  of  the 
individual   what  turns  out  to   be  truth   or  falsehood  for 

him. 

Against  these  principles,  so  absolutely  destructive  of  all 
morals  and  all  belief,  Socrates  opposed  the  whole  force  and 
vigour  of  his  genius.  He  advocated  the  existence  of  a  real 
truth,  apart  from  all  human  reasonings,  and  persuaded  his 
countrymen  to  the  steady  pursuit  of  it.  But  how  was  he  to 
extricate  himself  from  the  meshes  of  acute  sophisms  in 
which  the  artful  reasoners  of  the  day  were  accustomed  to 
involve  their  opponents  ?  To  meet  this  case,  he  invented 
what  is  usually  called  the  Socratic  dialogue,  a  method  of 
reasoning  in  which  he  strove  to  force  his  opponents  to  the 
confession  of  certain  fundamental  principles,  and  then  drew 
from  those  principles,  with  irresistible  force,  the  conclusions 
he  desired  to  inculcate. 

It  will  be  seen,  accordingly,  that  Socrates  followed,  like 
all  the  rest  of  his  contemporaries,  the  deductive  method,  and 
sought  to  evolve  truth  from  an  elaboration  of  ideas.  But 
tinlike  the  sophists  of  the  day,  he  insisted  upon  two  things  : 
first,  a  perfectly  clear  definition  of  ideas ;  and,  secondly,  a 
strict  habit  of  keeping  within  those  definitions  when  once 
made.  In  these  two  canons  lay  the  whole  gist  of  the 
Socratic  method  of  philosophy. 

But  in  order  to  apply  these  canons  accurately,  much  more 
than  their  mere  assertion  was  necessary.  To  get  a  perfectly 
r/d^r  definition  of  ideas,  for  example,  demanded  a  knowledge 
of  the  laws  of  thought,  and  of  the  manner  in  which  our 


6  PJiilosophical  Fi^agmeiits. 

common  notions  are  constructed ;  it  demanded,  in  fact,  the 
outlines  of  a  science  of  Logic. 

Nor  was  this  all.  A  study  of  the  materials  out  of  which 
our  conceptions  are  formed  was  equally  necessary  to  satisfy 
the  Socratic  demand ;  for  of  what  use  would  be  clear  defini- 
tions in  the  investigation  of  truth,  unless  those  definitions 
were  correct  as  well  as  clear  to  start  with  ?  In  other  words, 
science  was  needed  in  order  to  make  human  ideas  correspond 
with  the  reality  of  things. 

Socrates,  we  thus  see,  by  the  earnestness  of  his  character, 
by  his  entire  freedom  from  formalism,  and  by  his  vigorous 
common  sense,  approached  to  the  very  confines  of  the 
highest  philosophic  truth,  and  foresaw,  with  an  almost 
prophetic  eye,  the  course  which  the  human  intellect  was 
destined  to  follow.  He  pronounced,  in  fact,  the  necessity 
of  a  complete  logic,  in  order  to  keep  the  language  of  philo- 
sophy definite  and  clear  ;  and  of  inductive  research,  in  order 
to  make  our  ideas  correspond  with  the  reality  of  things. 

The  next  two  great  representatives  of  the  Greek  intellect — 
I  mean  Plato  and  Aristode — started  alike  from  the  Socratic 
point  of  view.  Plato,  though  abundantly  conscious  of  the 
demands  of  logical  science  as  a  preventive  against  false 
reasoning,  yet  aimed  chiefly  at  defining  and  fixing  all  the 
fundamental  ideas.  So  long  as  these  remained  floating  in 
uncertainty,  there  was  no  hope  of  putting  down  the  endless 
logomachies  of  the  Sophists.  But  the  slow  and  certain 
method  of  rising  inductively  by  gradual  steps  to  the  highest 
generalizations,  did  not  suit  the  speculative  character  of  the 
age,  still  less  the  soaring  mind  of  Plato  himself  He  took 
refuge  accordingly  from  the  lower  arena  of  logical  contention 
in  the  higher  sphere  of  intuition.  Here  he  hoped  to  get 
the  fundamental  ideas  of  science  positively  and  unalterably 
fixed ;  nay,  to  rise  to  the  contemplation  of  the  very  arche- 
types of  those  ideas  as  they  exist  in  the  divine  and  creative 
mind,  and  see  them  standing  like  solid  rocks  in  the  seething 
ocean  of  human  speculation.  True  knowledge  he  conceived 
to  lie  in  the  power  of  grasping  these  ideas  with  the  eye  of 
pure  reason,  and  then  of  arguing  deductively  from  them 
down  to  all  the  manifold  details  of  human  truth. 

Aristotle  took  up  first  and  foremost  the  logical  side  of 


I 


Historical  Outline.  7 

the  Socratic  philosophy.     With  a  mind  far  too  practical  and 
realistic  in  its  tendencies  to  follow  Plato  mto  the  heights 
of  his  ideal  system,  he  saw  that  a  more  complete  method 
than  had  hitherto  been  devised  was  absolutely  necessary  to 
test  the  correct   deductive   sequence   of  ideas,  and   that 
without  such  a  method  philosophy  must  remain  fruitless 
and   insecure.     Neither   Socrates'   definitions   nor   Plato's 
ideas  could  in  his  view  furnish  such  a  method,  and  it  was 
to  supply  this  want  that  he  plunged  into  the  region  of  formal 
logic,  and  evolved  the  system  which  more  or  less  guided 
the  world's  teaching  for  above  two  thousand  years. 

The  thoroughness  with  which  Aristotle  went  into  the 
details  of  formal  logic,  succeeded  in  completely  destroying 
the  prestige  of  the  geometric  method  of  reasoning.     He  found 
out  by  the  acuteness  of  his  analysis  the  fundamental  diff'er- 
ence  between  the  treatment   of  numerical   or  geometric 
quantities,  on  the  one   hand,  and   that   of  our   ordinary 
qualitative  ideas  on  the   other.     He   saw   that   whilst   all 
quantitative  reasoning  consists  fundamentally  in  the  adding 
or  subtracting  of  identicals,  the  reasoning  of  common  hfe 
depends  on  the  perception  of  similarities,  this  perception 
being  the  basis  of  the  whole  process  of  generalization  into 
genus  and  species,  and  ultimately  of  all  syllogistic  reasoning. 
To  him,  accordingly,  we  owe  the  enUre  doctrine  of  terms, 
of  logical  extension  and  comprehension,  of  opposition  and 
contradiction,  and  finally  the  whole  syllogistic  method  of 
deduction.     As  an  analysis  of  the  reasoning  process  founded 
on  the  structure  and  use  of  language,  the  Aristotelian  logic 
remains  to  the  present  day  an  unrivalled  organon ;   but 
whether  he  himself  regarded  it  finally  as  an  instrument  of 
discovery  appears  to  be  at  least  doubtful.     Certain  it  is, 
that  Aristotle's  later  labours  were  engaged  chiefly  with  the 
diligent   investigation   of  physical   phenomena.     He    had 
evidently  a  clear  perception  of  the  fact,  that  no  amount  of 
logical  acuteness  could  possibly  supply  the  place  of  actual 
observation,  although  the  truth  was  not  yet  distinctly  pro- 
nounced—that  all  reality  lies  in  the  concrete  and  individual ; 
that  this  must  be  investigated  by  a  patient  colligation  and 
interpretation  of  facts ;  that  from  them  we  must  rise  gradually 
to  more  generalized  conceptions ;  and  that  it  is  only  after 


8 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


this  has  been  done  that  the  deductive  method  becomes  of 
any  real  service  in  the  investigation  of  truth. 

For  this  inductive  method  the  age  was  not  yet  mature. 
Accordingly  it  was  the  purely  logical  side  of  Aristotle's 
philosophy  which  laid  hold  most  firmly  of  the  minds  of 
his  successors,  and  which  gave  the  prevailing  tone  to  their 
researches.  The  sects  which  arose  out  of  Aristotle's  philo- 
sophic labours  altogether  neglected  the  inductive  research 
after  truth,  and  withdrew  from  the  study  of  nature  chiefly 
into  a  subjective  and  ethical  train  of  speculation.  Neither 
the  Epicureans,  nor  the  Stoics,  nor  the  Sceptics,  showed 
any  scientific  spirit  at  all  comparable  to  that  which  existed 
in  the  Socratic  school.  Their  point  of  departure  was  the 
individual ;  their  great  aim  was  to  find  the  summutn  bonum  or 
highest  good ;  and  the  method  they  followed  was  purely 
logical  and  speculative  in  its  character.  And  though  a 
vigorous  renaissance  of  philosophic  energy  appeared  still 
later  in  Alexandria,  yet  the  whole  cycle  of  philosophical 
speculation  was  confined  to  the  influence  and  example  of 
the  two  mighty  masters  of  Greece,  and  never  approached 
by  any  means  so  near  to  a  purely  productive  and  scientific 
system  of  research  as  they  had  done  in  that  earlier  age  of 
Grecian  speculation.  Looking,  therefore,  at  the  ancient 
philosophy  as  a  whole,  we  may  sum  up  its  real  gain  in  a 
few  distinctive  points. 

1.  It  succeeded  in  breaking  through  the  ordinary  unre- 
flective  circle  of  human  ideas,  and  in  bringing  the  mind  of 
man  face  to  face  with  the  problem  of  human  knowledge. 

2.  It  orginated  the  deductive  method  as  applied  to 
numbers  and  geometry,  and  attempted  to  apply  the  same 
method  to  the  sequence  of  ideas  and  the  discovery  of  truth 
generally. 

3.  It  separated  the  mere  outward  perception  of  facts 
from  the  inner  consciousness  of  fixed  and  generalized 
ideas,  rising  in  the  case  of  Plato  to  the  height  of  a  lofty 
idealism. 

4.  It  brought,  through  Aristotle's  analysis,  the  logic  of 
human  thought  into  an  almost  perfect  theoretic  form,  and 
sought  to  apply  the  organon  thus  evolved  to  the  building  up 
of  various  systems  of  philosophic  truth. 


Historical  Outline,  9 

5.  Beyond  this,  it  originated  isolated  efforts  in  the 
departments  of  mathematics,  mechanics,  physics,  and 
natural  history,  and  caught  a  distant  glimpse  of  the  scope 
and  character  of  inductive  investigation. 

With  regard  to  the  general  character  of  the  ancient 
philosophy  as  compared  with  the  modern,  it  was  mainly 
objective  in  its  tendencies.  It  sought  to  comprehend 
nature,  and  investigated  the  laws  of  thought  mainly  as  an 
instrument  for  this  end.  Into  the  mysteries  of  the  human 
soul,  its  relation  to  the  world  and  the  Creator,  it  hardly 
entered.  These  form  the  great  problems  which  the  philo- 
sophy of  more  modern  times  has  been  ever  attempting  to 
resolve.  The  ancient  world  idealized  the  external,  and 
give  rise  to  art  in  its  highest  perfection;  the  deeper  questions 
of  human  nature  and  destiny  formed  a  scarcely  perceptible 
element  in  its  intellectual  and  moral  activity. 

But  now  a  new  fact  appeared,  which  was  destined  to  exert 
a  vast  influence  upon  the  progress  of  human  thoughts — I 
mean  the  rise  and  spread  of  Christianity.  The  mythology 
of  the  ancient  creeds  interfered  very  little  with  the  pursuit 
of  truth  philosophically  considered.  Whatever  might  have 
been  the  case  with  the  masses  of  the  people,  the  thinkers 
of  every  age  set  little  store  by  the  popular  theology,  and 
never  seemed  to  take  it  into  account  as  an  element  at  all 
calculated  to  influence  the  progress  of  the  intellect. 

Not  so,  however,  with  Christianity,  when  once  it  became 
largely  spread  amongst  the  people.  Its  doctrines,  shaped 
into  new  forms  by  the  influence  of  Greek  metaphysics  and 
logic,  aimed  at  setting  up  a  more  complete  theory  of 
human  nature  than  had  even  been  dreamed  of  by  the 
priests  of  polytheism ;  while  its  adoption  of  the  Hebrew 
cosmogony  gave  it  a  still  greater  completeness,  as  including 
a  full  and  authoritative  statement  of  the  origin  of  the 
world,  and  the  creation  and  destiny  of  man.  But  the 
doctrines  of  Christianity  did  more  than  give  the  elements 
of  a  complete  human  philosophy ;  they  aimed  at  an  entire 
interpretation  of  the  human  and  divine  in  all  the  relations 
of  life,  and  in  the  entire  government  of  the  world,  placing 
all  outward  things  under  the  guidance  of  an  overruling 
Providence,  and  all  the  struggles  of  the  human  soul  after 


lO 


Philosophical  Fragmefils. 


reconciliation  and  peace  under  the  fundamental  ideas  of  the 
apostolic  teaching.  In  this  way  they  came  gradually  to  fill 
up  the  whole  horizon  of  human  thought,  hope,  and  feeling. 
In  proportion,  therefore,  as  the  ancient  philosophy  became 
obscured  by  the  mists'  of  the  advancing  barbarism,  the 
mind  of  Europe  gradually  gravitated  to  the  dogmatic  teach- 
ing of  Christianity,  as  being  the  centre  and  containing  the 
substance  of  all  human  truth. 

Under  these  conditions,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that 
philosophy  properly  so  called  came  during  the  Middle  Ages 
to  play  a  wholly  subordinate  part.  In  place  of  looking 
out  upon  the  universe  and  man  as  the  material  from  which 
the  human  intellect  was  to  seek  its  inspiration,  and  from 
which  to  reason  up  to  the  highest  truth,  the  entire  problem 
of  philosophy  was  altered.  The  material  of  truth  was  now 
regarded  as  lying  wholly  within  the  authoritative  teaching 
of  the  church,  and  had  to  be  received  by  the  eye  of  faith 
only  upon  that  authority. 

But  as  the  existence  of  the  human  reason  could  not  be 
denied,  and  as  some  sort  of  function  for  it  was  still  necessary, 
the  chief  aim  and  purport  of  all  philosophy  was  to  enable 
man  to  comprehend  intellectually  what  faith  had  already 
revealed  to  him  supematurally ;  it  was  fides  qucerens  intel- 
lectum.  The  limit,  the  scope,  the  possible  material  of 
human  knowledge  was  already  defined  ;  it  only  remained  for 
philosophy  to  bring  it  into  an  intellectual  form  and  build  it 
up  into  a  consecutive  system  of  ideas.  Philosophy  became, 
accordingly,  an  instrument  not  for  the  discovery^  but  simply 
for  iht  formularization  of  truth. 

This,  which  I  have  just  described,  is  the  entire  standpoint 
of  the  Scholastic  system.  It  made  an  abundant  use  of  Aris- 
totle, but  it  employed  the  logical  forms  of  that  great  master 
simply  to  define  and  systematize  its  own  ideas.  And  this 
lasted,  with  very  subordinate  exceptions,  till  the  time  of 
the  Reformation.  With  the  Reformation  the  principle  of 
authority  itself  was  disowned  ;  and  that  done,  the  emancipa- 
tion of  philosophy  from  the  guidance  of  dogmatic  faith  soon 
followed  as  a  necessary  consequence. 

The  predominant  tendency  of  human  thought  never 
makes  a  sudden   change.      The    untenableness   of  long- 


Histoi^ical  Outline. 


II 


acknowledged  principles  and  dogmas  only  dawns  gradually 
upon  the  human  mind.  It  is  first  seen,  and,  as  it  were, 
prophesied  by  the  foremost  spirits  of  the  age,  and  then 
descends  gradually  lower  down  the  scale  until  it  becomes  a 
popular  conviction.  A  feeling  of  the  unsatisfactory  nature  of 
the  reigning  philosophy  had  been  silently  gaining  ground  for 
some  time  previous  to  the  Reformation.  Various  attempts 
had  been  made  to  undermine  the  authority  of  Aristotle  and 
his  Scholastic  followers.  Some  essayed  to  revive  the  Platonic 
ideas;  others  (as  Peter  Ramus  and  his  friends),  to  make 
innovations  in  the  department  of  logic  itself;  while  some 
of  the  more  original  spirits  of  the  age  took  refuge  in  a  dim 
religious  mysticism.  Our  own  countryman,  Lord  Bacon, 
was  the  first  to  disown  the  entire  principle  of  the  Middle 
Age  philosophy,  and  advocate  a  fuw  organum  altogether. 

We  have  it  on  the  authority  of  Dr.  Rawley,  Bacon's 
secretary  and  biographer,  that  when  a  student  at  Cambridge, 
he  became  deeply  impressed  with  the  utter  fruitlessness  of 
the  philosophy  usually  taught  by  the  professors  in  that  seat 
of  learning.  The  thought  forcibly  struck  him,  *  If  so  many 
minds,  exerting  so  much  intellectual  activity,  arrive  at  so 
few  results,  must  not  the  whole  method  of  study  be  wrong  ? 
and  if  the  ordinary  method  be  wrong,  might  not  a  better 
one  be  substituted  for  it?'  This  idea,  which,  no  doubt, 
appeared  simple  enough  at  the  time  (as  all  great  ideas  do), 
dominated  his  whole  subsequent  life.  It  was  the  key-stone 
to  all  his  scientific  endeavours,  the  first  dawn  of  the  in- 
ductive philosophy,  the  harbinger  of  all  those  vast  dis- 
coveries which  the  last  two  centuries  have  been  gradually 
unfolding. 

Bacon's  great  merit  lay,  not  so  much  in  the  application 
of  induction  to  the  discovery  of  new  truths  (for  this  had 
already  been  applied  by  Aristotle  himself  and  by  many  of  his 
followers  subsequently),  as  in  the  clear  and  decisive  state- 
ments he  made  in  reference  to  the  scope  and  purport  of 
philosophical  research.  A  philosopher  of  the  old  school 
would  have  reasoned  in  this  way,  *  What  have  we,  the  world's 
thinkers,  to  do  with  material  conveniences  ?  If  you  want 
such  things,  apply  to  the  proper  sources.  Our  business  is  a 
different  one.     We  have  to  do  with  human  thought,  with 


12 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Historical  Outline. 


13 


the  abstract,  the  real,  the  universal.  We  have  to  teach 
what  is,  not  what  appears^  to  enable  our  followers  to  rise  to 
the  sacred  contemplation  of  the  highest  existence  and  the 
highest  good,  and  thus  to  separate  themselves  from  the 
common  herd  of  mankind  as  lovers  of  wisdom  and  servants 
of  the  absolute  truth.' 

Bacon,  on  the  contrary,  began  his  philosophizing  by 
revising  the  whole  conception  hitherto  entertained  of  the 
end  and  purport  of  philosophy.  Looking  athwart  humanity 
at  large,  he  was  deeply  impressed  with  the  extent — nay,  with 
the  almost  entire  universality — of  human  misery.  Poverty, 
pain,  tyranny,  unalleviated  wants  and  sufferings,  abounded 
on  all  hands.  To  relieve  these,  philosophy,  as  hitherto 
practised,  had  been  powerless.  While  seeking  the  abstract 
and  universal,  it  had  left  the  real  concrete  wants  of  humanity 
altogether  out  of  count.  And  what  was  the  result  of  this 
on  the  state  and  progress  of  human  society  ?  Ignorance  of 
the  universe,  involved  ignorance  and  error  as  to  the  relation 
of  man  to  its  Creator.  The  world  in  which  we  live  was 
regarded  as  comprising  virtually  the  whole  of  the  material 
creation ;  the  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars  as  so  many 
attendants  upon  it,  and  so  many  ministers  to  human  neces- 
sities. The  mind  of  the  Almighty  was  therefore  regarded 
as  being  chiefly  concentrated  here  on  this  earth ;  here  His 
plans  were  unfolded;  here  alone  His  schemes  of  moral 
government  were  to  be  wrought  out.  And  yet,  despite  the 
supposed  interference  of  Deity  in  the  whole  flow  of  human 
affairs,  the  fact  was  palpable  enough  on  every  hand  that  the 
great  mass  of  mankind  lay  buried  in  ignorance,  vice,  and 
consequent  misery.  How  then  was  this  state  of  things  to 
be  reconciled  with  the  current  theory  of  the  universe,  and 
with  the  idea  of  a  divine  plan  in  all  the  arrangements  of 
human  life  ?  The  explanation  was  this  :  Man  was  destined, 
by  the  very  state  of  things  in  which  he  was  placed,  to  learn 
the  great  lesson  of  self-abnegation ;  to  deny  the  flesh ;  to 
rise  above  the  sense  of  sorrow  or  suffering ;  and  to  live  in 
the  higher  regions  of  spiritual  contemplation. 

But  how  far,  it  may  be  asked,  did  the  reality  of  things 
answer  to  the  idea  which  the  Middle  Ages  thus  propounded  ? 
Theory  said, '  Subdue  and  crucify  nature ;'  but  nature  proved 


/> 


far  too  strong  to  be  thus  summarily  put  down.  Theory 
said,  *  Implicitly  believe  the  church,  and  absolutely  submit  to 
the  king ;'  but  when  the  church  became  hard  to  believe  in, 
and  the  king  hard  to  obey,  men  rose  up  in  fierce  combat 
both  against  the  one  and  the  other.  Theory  said,  *  Let  every- 
thing on  earth  be  subordinate  to  religious  observances ; ' 
but  religion  itself,  when  set  counter  to  nature,  degenerated 
into  mere  superstition,  and  fierce  human  passions  rolled 
like  a  tide  Over  the  earth  till  it  became  full  of  violence  and 
crime.  Such  were  the  actual  phenomena  presented  by  the 
Middle  Ages.  Century  after  century  passed  away,  and  no 
change  appeared  —  no  great  discoveries  brightened  the 
passing  ages ;  no  human  improvements  came  to  light. 
Under  the  spell  of  the  one  master-thought,  sanctioned  by 
the  reigning  philosophy,  and  proclaimed  by  the  current 
religion  of  the  day, — viz.,  that  all  evil  consisted  in  adminis- 
tering to  the  flesh,  and  all  good  in  sacrifice  and  struggle, — 
human  life  itself  was  stripped  of  all  aesthetic  culture,  and 
human  progress  proved  an  impossibility. 

Now  Bacon  stood  on  the  skirts  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  he 
saw  the  tremendous  evils  which  afflicted  humanity,  and  he 
well  understood  that  all  the  cherished  lore,  all  the  verbal 
disputation,  all  the  logical  striving  of  that  time,  had  no  eff'ect 
in  elevating  the  temporal  condition  of  humanity.  He  looked 
around,  and  saw  a  beneficent  and  beautiful  nature  smiling 
upon  all,  pouring  out  unbidden  her  ample  stores,  awaiting 
only  the  touch  of  science  to  become  the  friend  of  man  and 
the  administrator  of  human  happiness ;  he  saw  clearly  all 
this,  and  declared  his  entire  intellectual  revolt  against  the 
old  philosophy  and  the  old  spirit  which  nurtured  it.  He 
reversed,  in  fact,  the  whole  problem  of  philosophy  itself.  In 
place  of  looking  upon  nature  as  an  enemy,  he  regarded  her 
as  the  friend  of  humanity,  and  declared  that  it  was  the  pur- 
port of  intellectual  research  to  alleviate  the  ills  of  life,  to 
multiply  our  conveniences  and  comforts,  and  to  furnish  us 
with  aids  for  enhancing  human  refinement  and  culture. 

Such  was  the  spirit  of  the  Baconian  writings,  and  such 
the  new  life  they  strove  to  inaugurate.  In  place  of  dealing 
with  abstract  ideas,  and  seeking  to  build  up  a  system  of 
philosophy  by  mentally  elaborating  them,  he  went  at  once 


H 


Philosophical  Fragmenls, 


Historical  OtUline, 


15 


to  the  fountain-head  of  nature,  propounded  the  method  of 
dealing  with  phenomena,  showed  the  gradual  procedure  of 
inductive  research  from  individual  up  to  general  truths,  and 
pointed  out  the  inestimable  value  of  knowledge  thus  educed 
and  thus  established. 

Whilst  Bacon  was  turning  the  current  of  human  thought 
into  a  practical  channel,  another  revolt  against  the  authority 
of  the  Middle  Ages  took  place  in  France  under  the  intel- 
lectual leadership  of  Descartes. 

Descartes  appears  to  have  become  equally  disgusted  with 
the  reigning  philosophy  as  Bacon  himself.  He  pronounced 
with  equal  decisiveness  upon  the  utter  fruitlessness  of  the 
Aristotelian  logic  as  a  method  of  discovery,  and  took 
refuge  against  the  pretensions  of  authority  in  the  principle 
of  universal  doubt.  So  far  he  would  have  gone  hand  in 
hand  with  the  Baconian  school ;  but  the  moment  the  work 
of  reconstruction  commences,  there  they  part  company  and 
follow  diametrically  opposite  roads. 

Bacon,  trusting  the  natural  power  and  validity  of  the  senses, 
looked  ivithout^  and  sought  to  interrogate  and  interpret 
nature.  Descartes,  rejecting  the  evidence  of  the  senses 
as  untrustworthy  and  often  fallacious,  looked  within,  and 
sought  for  those  criteria  of  truth  which  the  human  reason 
could  alone  present.  But  if  reason  is  to  be  the  criterion  of 
all  certitude  wholly  apart  from  sense  and  experience,  it  can 
only  be  so  in  virtue  of  possessing  original  ^/rz^Tr/ knowledge, 
the  germs  of  which  lie  ready  formed  in  the  soul  from  its 
very  birth.  Thus,  with  the  very  best  desires  and  intentions, 
Descartes  falls  back  once  more  into  the  old  circle  of  innate 
ideas,  and  strives  to  educe  a  whole  system  of  undeniable 
truth  by  elaborating  them  anew.  Vain  hope  and  fruitless 
attempt !  He  forgot,  if  he  ever  read,  the  great  principle  so 
beautifully  expressed  by  Bacon  in  his  Advancement  of  Learn- 
ings that  *  the  human  mind,  if  it  sets  to  work  by  studying 
the  nature  of  things  and  the  work  of  God,  operates  accord- 
ing to  nature,  and  is  guided  by  it ;  but  if  it  turn  in  upon 
itself,  like  a  spider  weaving  its  web,  then  it  becomes  vague 
and  produces  webs  of  philosophy,  admirable  it  may  be  for 
the  fineness  of  their  weft,  but  for  any  real  use  frivolous  and 
inane.' 


i\ 


The  warning  thus  held  up  was  singularly  verified  in  the 
case  of  Descartes.  What  did  Cartesianism  produce  ?  End- 
less disputes,  plausible  theories,  philosophical  dogmas  which 
in  turn  amused,  occupied,  and  irritated  the  next  generation, 
but  nothing  fruitful,  beneficial,  or  lasting.  Even  if  we  lay 
aside  his  metaphysical  reasonings,  his  i  priori  arguments, 
his  physical  hypotheses,  and  all  those  positive  portions  of 
philosophy  which  now  exist  only  as  curiosities  of  history, 
and  look  to  the  best  thing  his  system  contains, — I  mean  the 
method  of  regulating  the  understanding  in  the  search  for 
truth, — even  here,  when  we  sympathize  with  his  candour, 
caution,  and  perfect  freedom  from  prejudice,  we  still  fail 
to  discover  anything  really  profound  or  at  all  capable  of 
sustaining  the  merit  of  inaugurating  a  scientific  revolution. 

It  is  true,  we  must  admit  it  to  have  been  a  great  step  in 
advance  of  the  current  philosophy  of  the  times,  to  reject  all 
authority,  to  look  within,  to  read  his  own  consciousness, 
and  to  appeal  to  what  reason  presented  as  self-etndent  truth. 
But  the  necessity  of  some  such  renovation  had  already 
become  manifest  to  all  the  foremost  thinkers  of  the  time, 
and,  indeed,  had  become  tacitly  acknowledged  by  the  whole 
spirit  of  the  age.  The  great  thing  to  be  done,  and  the  great 
thing  which  Bacon  really  had  done,  was  to  lead  the  awaken- 
ing spirit  of  inquiry  into  a  fruitful  channel,  and  point  out 
the  valid  principles  of  philosophic  research.  On  the  other 
hand,  all  that  Descartes  presented  which  could  serve  as  a 
method  of  research,  was  contained  in  four  maxims  : — 

\st.  That  we  must  take  nothing  for  truth  which  is  not 
ez'idently  known  to  be  so  (a  very  wholesome  precept,  but 
one  which  does  not  do  much  practically  to  further  the  real 
progress  of  investigation). 

2d.  That  we  should  divide  the  difficulties  we  have  to 
contend  with  into  as  many  parts  as  possible,  in  order  the 
better  to  resolve  them  (a  very  indefinite  precept  at  the 
best,  as  it  is  never  defined  what  the  parts  are,  whether  out- 
ward facts  or  inward  ideas). 

3^.  That  we  should  begin  the  investigation  of  every 
subject  by  considering  its  simplest  elements,  and  proceed 
thence  to  the  more  complex  ones.  (This  is  certainly  a 
little  more   to   the   point,   but   still   falls  far   behind   the 


i6 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


Historical  Outline, 


%\ 


^mc'tfJed  )''^^^   ""^  induction   long  before   inculcated  and 

The  fourth  precept  directs  us  to  make  a  complete 
enumeration  of  parts  in  every  investigation,  so  that  nothing 
IS  passed  by  unperceived  (a  most  excellent  piece  of  advice 
but  one  which  aids  us  very  little  in  our  attempts  to  follow 
It).  In  fact,  the  whole  of  the  Cartesian  methodology  is  con- 
fined  to  vague  generalities,  good  as  far  as  they  go,  but,  re- 
garded m  the  light  of  a  philosophical  organon,  fruitless  knd 
impotent.  Its  almost  solitary  result  has  been  the  spirit  of 
independence  which  it  introduced  into  France  by  its  appeal 
to  consciousness  as  the  legitimate  antagonist  to  the  claims 
or  authority. 

The    more    immediate    results    which  grew  out  of  the 
labours  of  Descartes,  were  the  new-fashioned  Platonism  of 
Malebranche,   and   the   rigid  pantheism  of  Spinoza,  with 
their   various   actions   and    reactions.      The    doctrine    of 
Occasional   Causes,  the  *  seeing  all   things   in   God,'   the 
absolute   substance  of  Spinozism,  and    perhaps,  we   may 
add,  the  pre-established  hannony  of  Leibnitz,  were  the  main 
sequences   of  Cartesianism   for  a  whole  century  after   its 
birth.     And,  no  doubt,  they  have  played  a  great  part  in  the 
contests  of  metaphysicians,  have  been  discussed  and   re- 
discussed   a  thousand  times  by  men  of  all  philosophical 
opmions    and   lived  on   in    the   world  of  philosophy   by 
virtue  of  their  logical  subtleness  evendown  to  the  present 

r.  K  '^  r^  '^^^^  r '^^  ^^  philosophy,  it  is  hard  to  say 
what  benefit,  either  physical,  moral,  or  intellectual,  these 
Cartesian  results  have  ever  conferred  on  mankind.  Thev 
never  availed  to  produce  a  single  popular  conviction,  or  to 
explain  satisfactorily  a  single  intellectual  difficulty,  or  to 
furnish  (as  the  Aristotelian  logic  has  ever  done)  any  kind  of 
valid  instrument  for  mental  education.  The  contrast  between 
the  Baconian  and  Cartesian  method  of  philosophy  has  been 
well  stated  by  an  able  French  writer  as  follows  --- 

'  To  conceive,  and  then  to  reason  on  the  basis  of  these 
conceptions  ;  to  define,  to  demonstrate,  to  conclude-this 
is  the  method  of  Descartes ;  and  on  this  method  he  founds 
a  school.  The  contrast  of  Bacon  and  Descartes  is  the 
contrast  of  experience  and  pure  reason,  of  the  mathematical 


17 


/,.. 


and  physical  sciences.  When  the  one  recommends  us  to 
observe,  to  accumulate  experiences,  and  to  follow  up  the 
comparison  of  phenomena,  the  other  conjures  us  to  close 
our  eyes  and  shut  our  ears  in  order  to  withdraw  ourselves 
from  the  illusions  and  tumult  of  the  senses,  and  to  listen 
only  to  the  understanding — the  faculty  which  can  alone 
apprehend,  judge,  and  reason.  Bacon  and  Descartes  alike 
combated  and  ruined  the  Scholastic  logic  ;  but  the  one  did 
it  because  it  suppressed  all  that  power  of  intuition  on  which 
alone  deduction  can  be  based,  the  other  because  it  accepted 
ready  made  those  general  notions  the  elements  of  which 
ought  to  be  drawn  from  experience.'  ^ 

Spinoza's  merit  was  that  of  carrying  out  the  Cartesian 
principles  to  their  ultimate  results.  The  data  for  the  erection 
of  such  a  monument  of  philosophical  speculation  as  his 
writings  present  were  already  at  hand.  The  innate  ideas 
from  which  all  certain  knowledge  springs,  had  been  educed 
within  the  Cartesian  school  by  long  and  patient  thought, 
and  the  consecutive  geometric  method  by  which  alone  (it 
was  believed)  human  thought  could  advance  to  new  dis- 
coveries was  clearly  laid  down  and  defined  ;  but  the  earlier 
heroes  of  the  school  were  too  habitually  mingled  up  with  the 
world  of  men  and  things  to  commit  themselves  entirely  to 
the  wings  of  abstraction,  and  follow  the  lofty  path  to  which 
these  principles  seemed  to  point. 

Benedict  Spinoza  alone  was  capable  of  this.  A  scholar, 
a  recluse,  a  poor  artisan,  a  Jew,  he  had  little  sympathy 
\A\\\  the  ideas,  opinions,  faiths,  and  dogmas  of  the  world 
around  him.  His  world  was  simply  the  world  of  thought. 
In  the  atmosphere  of  pure  speculation  he  lived,  moved,  and 
had  his  being.  Wherever  speculation  (with  him  synonymous 
with  truth)  pointed,  he  was  ready  to  follow  ;  and  however 
bold  its  conclusions,  he  was  ready  to  draw  them.  He  had 
nothing  to  renounce  in  treading  this  lofty  path,  and  as  far 
as  mental  satisfaction  went  he  had  everything  to  gain. 
Accepting,  therefore,  the  Cartesian  definitions  of  conscious- 
ness, of  matter,  of  extension,  of  the  soul,  and  of  God,  he 
built  up  a  system  of  propositions,  demonstrating  the  divine 

*  See    Introduction    to    the   French    edition   of    Leibnitz,    by   M. 
Jacques. 

B 


i8 


Philosophical  Frag7nents, 


essence  to  be  the  basis  of  all  reality,  proving  the  world  to 
be  but  the  manifestation  of  the  Deity,  and  all  human  action 
to  be  a  network  of  fixed  necessity,  proceeding  by  regular 
sequence  from  the  essential  properties  of  nature. 

As  a  system  of  thought,  nothing  perhaps  could  be  grander 
in  its  whole  conception.  As  a  philosophy,  nothing  could  be 
more  empty  of  real  explanation,  or  less  satisfying  to  the 
inquisitive  spirit  of  man.  For  to  whatever  extent  geometric 
quantities  are  poorer  than  the  living  realities  of  nature,  to 
that  extent  is  the  system  of  Spinoza  poorer,  less  replete  with 
truth,  less  instinct  with  life,  than  a  valid  philosophy  of  nature 
and  humanity  ought  to  be. 

In  the  hands  of  Leibnitz  the  mechanical  pantheism  of 
Spinoza  broke  down.  He  demonstrated  with  convincing 
force  the  truth  that  material  existences  do  not  consist 
merely  in  extension  and  its  properties,  but  that  upon 
every  created  thing  there  is  impressed  a  self-developing 
power  and  an  intelligent  purpose.  The  monadologie  of 
Leibnitz  (to  which  we  shall  have  occasion  again  to  revert) 
was  in  fact  the  precise  logical  contradiction  of  the  pantheism 
of  Spinoza,  and  contained  the  germ  of  well-nigh  all  the 
doctrines  which  have  been  evolved  in  the  more  modem 
speculations  of  Germany. 

Locke  and  Leibnitz  were  contemporaries  as  well  as 
literary  opponents  ;  and  in  them  we  see  the  point  of  diverg- 
ence which  has  led  to  the  two  great  opposing  schools  of 
modern  philosophy — the  empirical  and  the  idealistic.  The 
teaching  of  Locke,  rejecting  as  it  did  the  whole  doctrine 
of  innate  ideas,  and  deducing  the  entire  material  of  human 
knowledge  from  the  intimation  of  the  senses,  after  leaving 
its  impression  upon  the  whole  surface  of  EngHsh  thought, 
passed  over  the  channel  and  expanded  into  the  extreme 
doctrines  of  the  French  materialistic  school.  In  the  same 
way  the  teaching  of  Leibnitz,  after  passing  through  the 
alembic  of  Kant's  powerful  intellect,  reappeared  in  the 
equally  extreme  doctrines  of  the  German  ideaHsm. 

The  eighteenth  century  was  par  excellence  the  age  of 
extremes.  The  materialistic  extreme  had  its  centre  in 
France,  the  idealistic  extreme  in  Germany ;  and  these  two 
schools  governed  the  whole  speculation  of  Europe  during 


Historical  Outli7ie. 


19 


the  early  part  of  the  present  century.  But  extremes  are 
never  durable.  The  outburst  of  literary  life  in  France 
which  distinguished  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe,  at  the  same 
time  inaugurated  a  school  of  philosophy  antagonistic  to  the 
prevailing  sensationalism.  Victor  Cousin  and  his  coadjutors 
restored  the  balance  of  philosophic  thought,  and  by  a  wise 
eclecticism  brought  the  idealism  of  Germany  and  the 
psychology  of  Scotland  to  bear  upon  the  French  intellect, 
and  stay  the  current  of  shallow  materialism  which  had  for 
a  time  absorbed  it. 

In  the  same  way,  the  German  revolutions  of  1848  brought 
the  current  Hegelian  idealism  to  a  stand-still,  and  by 
diverting  the  German  intellect  into  the  various  paths  of 
practical  and  political  life,  restored  the  influence  of  common 
sense  within  the  current  of  philosophical  thought.  At  the 
present  moment  there  is  no  great  reigning  school  of  philo- 
sophy either  in  England,  France,  or  Germany.  In  every 
country  the  tendency  shows  itself  with  equal  clearness,  to 
revert  to  the  inductive  method  of  research ;  and  to  accept 
alike  any  conclusions  which  may  arise,  whether  they  lean 
more  to  the  side  of  idealism  or  sensationalism.  The  vast 
array  of  facts  thus  accumulated  will  no  doubt  lead  to  some 
broad  generalizations,  which  may  at  length  serve  as  outlines 
and  foundations  for  the  philosophy  of  the  future. 


CHAPTER  II. 
Leibnitz  and  his  School. 

THE  progress  of  modern  philosophy  down  to  the  age 
of  Spinoza  was  confined  almost  entirely  to  the  schools 
of  England  and  France.  In  the  Universities  of  Germany, 
Aristotle  and  the  Middle  Age  scholasticism  still  reigned 
supreme  ;  and  if  innovations  were  ever  ventured  upon,  they 
all  took  the  direction  of  the  Cartesian  principles.  The  tinie, 
however,  had  now  arrived  when  Germany  was  to  assert  its 
intellectual  independence,  and  commence  that  career  of 
speculative  activity  which  has  since  filled  so  large  a  page 
in  the  history  of  modern  philosophy.  The  inauguration  of 
this  movement  was   due   to   the   learning  and  genius  of 

Leibnitz. 

Gottfried  Wilhelm  Leibnitz  was  born  in  the  year  1646,  at 
Leipsic,  where  his  father  was  Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy. 
Like  his  great  contemporary  Pascal,  Leibnitz  was  marked 
with  the  impress  of  extraordinary  genius  from  his  earliest 
childhood.  He  passed  through  all  the  ordinary  stages  of 
education  in  the  schools  of  his  native  town,  with  a  facility 
which  left  the  greater  part  of  his  time  free  for  study  amongst 
the  treasures  of  his  paternal  library.  By  his  twentieth  year, 
he  had  mastered  all  that  the  professors  of  his  day  could 
teach  him  in  classical  literature,  mathematics,  physics,  philo- 
sophy, and  law.  Being  refused  the  credit  of  competing  for 
his  degree  in  consequence  of  his  immature  age,  he  left 
Leipsic  in  disgust,  and  commenced  a  life  of  independent 
intellectual  effort  and  labour  unparalleled,  probably,  in  the 
whole  range  of  modern  biography.  He  betook  himself  first 
to  Altdorf,  near  Nurenberg,  where  he  received  his  degree 
with  the  highest  honours.     The  next  year  he  became  secre- 

20 


Leibnitz  and  his  School, 


21 


tary  to  the  Baron  von  Boineberg,  a  statesman  of  the  highest 
order,  who  saw  Leibnitz's  great  ability,  and  introduced  him 
at  once  into  all  the  political  movements  of  the  day.     We 
find  him  sojourning  for  a  time  with  the  baron  in  Frankfort 
and  Maintz,  occupied  deeply  with  the  most  abstruse  and 
difficult  questions  pertaining  to  religion,  law,  science,  and 
politics.     From  thence  he  goes  to  Paris,  and  becomes  in- 
timately mixed  up  with  all  the  intellectual  activities  of  that 
great  centre  of  European  culture.     Letters  which  he  wrote 
to  eminent  persons  in  Germany,  and  which  have  been  for- 
tunately preserved,  give  an  extraordinary  idea  of  his  intense 
mental  activity  at  this  period  in  every  department  of  hunian 
knowledge.     He  is  at  work  on  a  calculating  machine,  which 
should  give  an  automatic  perfection  to  all  the  geometric  pro- 
cesses employed  in  practical  life.     He  announces  a  ship, 
which  he  has  invented  to  sail  under  the  water,  and  a  method 
of  reckoning  longitude  and  latitude  without  any  sight  of 
sun,  moon,  or  stars.     He  proposes  improvements  in  hydro- 
statics, optics,  mechanics,  and  law,  and  during  all  this  time 
he  is  inventing  and  perfecting  the  differential  calculus. 

Next  we  find  him  in  London,  in  close  intercourse  with 
Pell,  Boyle,  Collins,  and  the  Royal  Society.  Unfortunately 
his  visit  here  is  embittered  by  his  contest  with  Newton  re- 
specting the  priority  of  their  respective  mathematical  dis- 
coveries—a contest  which  lasted  for  forty  years,  and  is  not 
even  set  at  rest  at  the  present  day. 

Leaving  London,  we  now  find  him  returning  by  Holland 
to  Germany,  and  visiting  Spinoza  on  his  way.  Strange 
encounter  of  the  two  greatest  metaphysical  thinkers  of  that, 
or  perhaps  of  any  other  age  ! 

Next  we  find  him  entering  the  service  of  the  Elector  of 
Hanover,  and  starting  for  Italy  on  a  tour  of  discovery 
respecting  the  archives  of  that  family.  He  carries  the 
impress  of  his  genius  with  him  here,  and,  on  condition  of 
his  becoming  a  Catholic,  is  offered  the  superintendence  of 
the  Vatican  library.  But  he  is  too  deeply  engaged  in  his 
own  pursuits  to  be  bound  down  by  any  local  ties,  and  after 
ten  years  returns  to  Germany  with  rich  treasures  of  historic 

research. 

He  now  becomes  the  founder  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences 


22 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


Leibnitz  and  his  School, 


23 


in  Berlin,  and  keeps  the  scientific  spirit  of  the  country  alive 
by  frequent  communications  in  the  departments  of  litera- 
ture, science,  and  philosophy.  His  advice  is  sought  by  the 
highest  potentates  in  Europe.  He  is  ennobled  by  Charles 
XII.  of  Sweden  and  Peter  the  Great  of  Russia.  So  intense 
is  the  spirit  of  inquiry  which  his  personality  excites,  that 
the  very  age  is  infected  by  a  metaphysical  mania.  The 
Electress  Sophia  of  Hanover  and  her  daughter,  Sophia 
Charlotte,  the  wife  of  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg,  and 
the  first  queen  of  Prussia,  become  his  closest  friends  and 
patrons.  The  latter,  on  her  deathbed,  is  reported  by  her 
grandson,  Frederick  the  Great,  to  have  said  to  her  weeping 
attendants,  '  Do  not  sorrow  for  me,  for  I  am  now  going  to 
satiate  my  curiosity  with  things  which  even  Leibnitz  could 
not  explain,  respecting  space,  the  Infinite,  Being,  and 
Nonentity  !'     Leibnitz  died  in  Hanover,  a.d.  17 16. 

The  genius  of  Leibnitz  is  characterized  mainly  by  its 
universality.  He  is  not  a  mere  philosopher ;  he  is  a  mathe- 
matician, a  linguist,  a  theologian,  a  lawyer,  and  a  historian. 
Fortified  with  these  varied  acquirements,  he  sees  the  bearing 
of  all  the  intellectual  theories  of  his  age,  and  judges  them 
according  to  their  relative  merits.  He  notes  what  is  true 
and  what  defective  in  them  all ;  and  his  great  passion  is  to 
merge  them  into  some  higher  principle,  where  their  contra- 
dictions can  be  fully  reconciled.  Thus,  though  originally 
a  Cartesian,  he  defends  what  is  good  in  the  old  Scholastic 
system,  and  which  Descartes  had  already  repudiated. 
Though  a  Protestant,  he  carries  on  a  correspondence  for 
years  with  Bossuet,  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation  of  the 
two  great  rival  churches.  Though  himself  a  Lutheran,  he 
seeks  to  unite  the  Lutheran  and  Calvinistic  communities 
in  one  common  bond.  Though  an  idealist,  he  seeks  to 
reconcile  himself  with  Locke.  His  great  motto  was,  '  Unity 
in  the  highest  form  of  truth.'  This  was  the  man  to  whom 
Germany  owed  her  first  great  movement  in  the  race  of 
philosophical  speculation. 

Historically  speaking,  Leibnitz  comes  clearly  in  the  wake 
of  the  Cartesian  school.  His  education  led  him  naturally 
in  this  direction,  and  his  first  attempts  at  philosophy  (as 
shown  in  the  two  early  treatises  on  Motion)  are  conceived 


wholly  in  the  Cartesian  spirit.     We  find  in  him  as  yet  no 
trace  of  the  Baconian  principles ;  no  systematic  observation 
of  facts,  as  the  basis  of  discovery ;  no  advance  from  par- 
ticulars to  generals ;  no  induction  leading  up  to  universal 
truth.     Like  Descartes  and  his  followers,  Leibnitz  began  by 
laying  down  a  theory  deduced  wholly  from  reason  and  re- 
flection, and  then  sought  to  elicit  from  this  an  exposition  of 
all  the  phenomena  he  proposed  to  investigate.     If  we  turn  to 
those  writings  which  contain  his  ideas  on  met/iod,  we  find 
him  virtually  adopting  the  Cartesian  principles  from  the  be- 
ginning, though  stated  perhaps  in  a  different  form.     Thus, 
to  clear  the  way  for  a  due  comprehension  of  the  process  of 
philosophical  research,  he  commences  by  pointing  out  the 
characteristics  of  clear  and  confused  ideas.     Those  which  are 
derived  immediately  from    the   senses,  he   maintains,  are 
always  confused  and  inadequate;    while  those  which  flow 
from  the  reason  are  perfectly  definite  and  exhaustive.    Ideas 
derived  from  sense  admit' only  of  a   nominal  definition, 
which  can  never  enable  us  to  grasp  by  the  reason  the  full 
nature  of  the  object  defined.     Ideas,  on  the  other  hand, 
derived  from  mental  insight,  like    those  of  number   and 
geometry,  admit  of  a  real  definition,  and  carry  with  them 
the  evidence  of  perfect  certainty ;    hence  it  is  from  these 
that  ail  demonstrative  scientific  truths  must  flow.     The  two 
great  criteria  of  truth  and  falsehood  are  the  principle  of 
identity  and  contradiction  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  prin- 
ciple of  sufficient  reason  on  the  other ;  and  nothing  which 
cannot  trace  its  certitude  up  to  one  or  other  of  these  prin- 
ciples can  be  regarded  as  scientifically  determined.     Expe- 
rience accordingly  performs  quite  a  secondary  part  in  the 
economy  of  human  knowledge,  for  its  intimations  never  rise 
to  the  height  of  scientific  certitude.     This  is  the  general 
tone  and  burden  of  Leibnitz's  methodology,  and  is  suffi- 
ciently demonstrative  of  the  fact  that  he  belonged  from  the 
first  to  the  purely  d  priori  school  of  thought.     But  Leibnitz, 
though  a  follower  of  the  Cartesian  a  prion  principles,  was 
no  blind  advocate  of  a  fixed  system.     The  history  of  the 
Cartesian  movement,  for  a  hundred  years  from  its  source, 
lay  spread  out  before  him,  and  side  by  side,  the  results  of 
the   Baconian  philosophy  down  to  the  period  of  Newton. 


Jt 


24 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


It  was  impossible  that  a  mind  so  versatile  should  not  be 
aware  of  the  comparative  failure  of  the  former;  that  he 
should  not  feel  secretly  conscious  of  the  sorry  insignifi- 
cance of  the  speculations  of  Malebranche,  and  the  pantheism 
of  Spinoza,  when  compared  with  the  assured  march  of  the 
inductive  sciences.  That  the  spectacle  of  the  two  rival 
schools  had  really  exerted  an  influence  upon  his  mind,  we 
are  not  left  long  in  doubt.  The  mechanical  physics  of 
Descartes  had  proved  a  failure;  the  'vortices'  had  turned  out 
as  empty  in  speculation  as  they  were  in  fact ;  the  '  elabora- 
tion '  of  the  idea  of  substance  had  gone  on  and  on,  until  the 
whole  universe  was  congealed  into  a  rigid  system  of  pan- 
theistic fatalism.  The  universal  and  absolute  substance  of 
Spinoza  had  absorbed  at  last,  physics,  ethics,  and  theology, 
and  evolved  one  unbending  rationalistic  doctrine,  which 
confounded  human  freedom  with  natural  law,  and  God  with 
the  universe.  Compared  with  the  law  of  gravitation  and 
the  splendid  researches  of  physical  philosophy,  what  a 
miserable  climax  must  this  have  seemed  to  the  broad  and 
common-sense  intellect  of  Leibnitz  ! 

He  soon  acknowledged,  indeed,  that  it  was  so,  and 
vigorously  applied  his  mind  to  discover  the  false  link  in  the 
Cartesian  reasoning  which  had  superinduced  so  empty  a 
result.  This  false  link,  he  at  length  assured  himself,  lay  in 
that  mechanical  idea  of  substance,  which  the  Cartesian 
philosophy  had  all  along  assumed  and  maintained. 

Descartes,  following  the  rationalistic  method,  had  inquired, 
not  of  the  senses^  but  of  the  reasan^  to  know  in  what  substance 
really  consists ;  and  reason  had  given  him  the  unequivocal 
answer,  that  substance  consists  essentially  in  extension.  All 
other  attributes  which  matter  may  possess,  according  to 
Descartes,  are  contingent  and  accidental ;  but  extension  is 
essential  to  the  very  idea  of  it.  Thus,  all  matter  came  to 
be  regarded  in  the  Cartesian  school  as  philosophically 
synonymous  with  extension,  and  all  reasoning  upon  it 
equivalent  to  reasoning  upon  the  different  forms  and  modes 
of  extension.  Physics  accordingly  became,  in  this  way, 
simply  a  problem  of  geometry ;  and  the  facts  of  nature 
were  bound  to  flow  from  the  fundamental  ideas  and  axioms 
which  lie  at  the  root  of  science,  exactly  in  the  same  way 


Leibiiitz  and  his  School, 


25 


as  the  whole  superstructure  of  geometry  is  deducible  from 
the  definitions  and  axioms  which  form  the  starting-point  of 
all  its  reasoning. 

Captivating  as   this  whole  doctrine   had  been  even  to 
Leibnitz  himself,  he  became  at  length  sufficiently  aware  of 
the  absurd  results  which  flowed  from  it,  in  the  case  of 
Spinoza  and  others,  as  to  acknowledge  the  necessity  of  its 
entire  revision.     In  a  highly  acute  strain  of  metaphysical 
reasoning,  he  shows  that  the  geometric  idea  of  substance 
could  never  account  for  figure,  or  motion,  or  purpose,  or 
any  of  those  actual   phenomena   of  physical   life  which, 
according  to  Descartes,  it  ought  to  explain  and  illuminate. 
Taking  up  all  the  hypotheses  of  the  relation  of  the  Creator 
to  the  universe,  he  concludes  that  the  Almighty  must  have 
impressed  upon  everything  a  fixed  and  immanent  law,  by 
virtue  of  which  it  tends  perpetually  to  the  fulfilment  of  its 
destiny.     But  this  law,  when   seen  in  action,  impHes   an 
energy  ox  force  directed  to  some  end,  so  that  it  thus  lifts  the 
whole  of  the  material  world  at  once  out  of  the  geometric 
sphere  into  that  of  poiver — of  power,  too,  ever  striving  to 
work  out  intelligently  some  final  cause  or  purpose.     This 
whole  conception  of  substance,  it  is  evident,  cuts  at  the 
root,  as  Leibnitz  intended,  of  Spinozism.     The  universe  is 
no  longer  substance  merely^  but  substance  and  force  com- 
bined.    The  objects  of  nature  no  longer  exist  in  God  as 
modes  of  the  Infinite  Being,  but  apart,  and  wholly  separated 
from   the  divine  essence,  each  having  its  own  law,  and 
working  out  by  its  inherent  energy  its  own  final  destination. 
To  the  science  of  geometry,  accordingly,  Leibnitz  saw  that 
there  must  be  added  a  science  of  dynamics,  by  which  the 
laws  of  force  and  motion  should  be  reduced  to  a  scientific 
expression.      To  this  view  of  the  universe,  no  doubt,  were 
greatly  due  those  mathematical  researches  which  produced 
the  first  rough  sketch  of  the  caladus. 

To  introduce  the  principle  of  power  and  purpose  into 
nature,  was  a  great  innovation  upon  the  Cartesian  physics, 
but  one  which  could  not  have  cost,  to  a  mind  like  that  of 
Leibnitz,  any  great  amount  of  effort.  To  carry  out  this 
principle,  however,  so  as  to  frame  a  whole  system  of  the 
universe  in  consonance  with  it,  was  a  much  greater  effort 


26 


Philosophical  Fragfne7its. 


of  constructive  ingenuity.  If  power  and  substance  are 
indissoluble  realities,  if  wherever  there  is  a  single  atom  of 
matter  there  must  also  be  its  correlative  y^rr^  impelling  it 
to  accomplish  its  purpose,  then,  argued  Leibnitz,  must  the 
universe  consist  of  an  infinite  number  of  powers  or  forces,  all 
emanating  from  the  Infinite  Being,  and  all  sent  forth  on 
their  destination  in  the  world.  All  the  parts  of  the  universe 
are  accordingly  homologous.  Wherever  there  is  existence^ 
there  is  power  and  purpose,  or,  in  other  words,  mind  and 
intelligence  in  some  particular  sense  of  that  word.  The 
universe,  therefore,  must  be  regarded  as  consisting  of  an 
infinite  number  of  independent  existences, — in  other  words, 
of  individualities, — each  having  its  own  law,  each  acting 
ever  in  exact  conformity  with  this  law,  and  all  together 
forming,  by  the  independent  activity  of  each,  a  perfectly 
harmonious  whole.  The  term  employed  by  Leibnitz  to 
designate  these  independent  existences  was  the  word  monad. 
The  truth  accordingly  may  be  thus  stated : — The  Almighty, 
the  great  eternal  self-existent  Being,  has  seen  fit  to  create 
an  infinite  number  of  monads,  in  an  ascending  hierarchy, 
from  the  meanest  atom  of  matter  up  to  the  highest  intel- 
lectual existence.  All  work  independently  by  their  own 
force,  and  in  accordance  with  the  inherent  law  impressed 
from  the  first  upon  them  ;  and  all  form  a  portion  of  the 
great  plan,  embraced  alone  by  the  infinite  mind  and  wisdom 
of  the  Creator. 

The  most  distinctive  and  perhaps  important  portions  of 
the  Leibnitzian  philosophy,  are  those  in  which  he  attempts 
to  bring  all  the  phenomena  of  nature  and  man  into  con- 
sistency with  this  doctrine  of  *  monadologie.'  Let  us  touch 
briefly  upon  the  most  important  of  these  results. 

I.  By  giving  to  nature  an  independent  and  self-regulat- 
ing force  of  its  own,  he  broke  down  virtually  the  long- 
imagined  separation  between  matter  and  mind,  and  main- 
tained the  existence  of  a  subordinate,  unconscious,  latent 
power  of  intelligence  in  the  lower  regions  of  nature,  which 
becomes  semi-conscious  in  the  animal  creation,  and  self- 
conscious  at  length  in  man.  This  doctrine  of  latent  thought, 
it  is  just  to  say,  has  been  revived  by  later  psychologists, 
constitutes   an   important  element  in  the  modern  German 


Leibnitz  and  his  School. 


27 


systems,  and  has  been  applied  in  our  own  country  to  the 
exposition  of  the  lower  and  instinctive  regions  of  our  mental 

operations. 

2.  The  perfect  independence  of  each  separate  existence 
in  nature  became  naturally  an  embarrassing  problem,  when 
the  mutual  connection  of  mind  and  body  (which  Leibnitz 
regarded  as  wholly  separate  monads)  came  to  demand  an 
explanation.  This  problem,  however,  he  solved  satisfactorily 
to  himself  by  the  doctrine  of  a  pre-established  harmony. 
This  doctrine  assumed  in  the  Leibnitzian  philosophy  a 
universal  aspect,  and  as  such  seemed  to  exhibit  in  a  mag- 
nificent point  of  view  the  infinite  power  and  resources  of 
the  Deity.  Its  application  to  the  twofold  nature  of  man 
followed  as  a  natural  consequence.  The  human  mind  and 
the  human  organism,  like  all  other  monads,  must  develope 
and  operate,  each  by  its  own  law  of  action.  The  union 
between  them,  therefore,  must  be  apparent  rather  than  real. 
Each  would,  in  fact,  pass  through  exactly  the  same  stages 
of  being,  and  exhibit  the  same  phenomena  if  that  union  did 
not  exist,  the  whole  parallelism  of  activity  being  due  to  a 
pre-established  order  of  things  formed  in  the  mind  of  the 

Creator. 

No  one  probably  would  ever  have  propounded  a  theory 
so  little  in  consistency  with  obvious  facts,  had  it  not  been 
necessitated  by  allegiance  to  a  wider  theory.  We  see  here, 
in  fact,  an  example  of  the  great  7veakness  of  the  deductive 
method.  Broad  theories  are  adopted,  and  the  world  must 
be  interpreted  in  accordance  with  them.  Doctrines  and 
explanations  are  readily  accepted  which  are  wholly  at 
variance  with  common  sense,  and  which  no  reasonable  man 
would  ever  have  entertained  for  a  moment  but  for  the  sake 
of  saving  the  theory  which  rendered  such  an  explanation 
inevitable.  When  the  verifying  power  of  induction  is 
absent,  such  wanderings  of  the  reason  are  sure  to  arise,  and 
lead  the  mind  away  from  the  true  problems  of  nature  into 
the  many  devious  paths  of  mere  hypothesis. 

3.  To  cohere  with  the  theory  of  pre-established  harmony, 
the  doctrine  of  perception  had  to  be  entirely  remodelled. 
The  Cartesian  philosophy,  by  raising  up  a  barrier  between 
the  mutual  action  and  reaction  of  mind  and  matter,  had 


28 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


affirmed  that  the  objects  of  nature  around  us  are  not  causes, 
but  only  the  occasions  of  our  perceptions ;  that  the  cause 
lies  in  the  divine  operations,  the  occasion  of  that  operation 
in  the  circumjacent  reahty.  This  doctrine,  it  is  well  known, 
was  moulded  by  Malebranche  into  the  vision  of  all  things  in 
God.  Leibnitz  cut  at  the  root  of  all  this  idealism,  by  affirm- 
ing the  real  independent  existence  both  of  mind  and  nature 
as  separate  monads,  and  their  perfect  though  independent 
co-operation  in  the  divine  scheme  of  the  universe.  Every 
perception  thus  indicates  the  real  parallel  existence  of  its 
object,  although  the  two  can  exert  no  direct  influence  the 
one  upon  the  other.  They  are  correlative  facts,  perfectly 
corresponding  with  each  other,  according  to  the  original 
harmony  of  the  divine  plan. 

4.  With  this  theory  to  work  with,  it  need  hardly  be 
said  that  Leibnitz  found  it  a  hard  task  to  conserve  the 
interests  of  morality  and  admit  the  liberty  of  human  actions. 
This  was  one  of  the  chief  points  mooted  in  the  correspond- 
ence which  took  place  between  him  and  Dr.  Samuel 
Clarke,  in  which  Clarke,  with  great  acuteness,  follows 
Leibnitz  step  by  step  in  his  attempt  to  conserve  a  semblance 
of  liberty  in  human  action  (the  liberty  of  indifference), 
and  to  obviate  the  more  extreme  consequences  of  neces- 
sarianism.  Into  this  controversy  it  is  needless  for  us  now  to 
enter.  We  may  simply  indicate  that  Leibnitz  held  what 
has  since  been  termed  the  doctrine  of  philosophical  neces- 
sity, and  used  the  same  arguments  that  have  ever  been 
employed  to  render  that  doctrine  consistent  with  moral 
responsibility.  These  arguments  Clarke  refuted ;  and  it  is 
a  matter  of  regret  that  Leibnitz's  death  occurred  in  the 
midst  of  the  correspondence,  and  before  he  had  penned  his 
last  explanation. 

Leibnitz  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  a  psychologist,  and  had 
always  been  accustomed  to  regard  all  questions  concerning 
the  human  mind  on  their  metaphysical  rather  than  their 
psychological  side.  Notwithstanding  this,  on  his  attention 
being  drawn  to  the  theories  propounded  in  Locke's  Essay  on 
the  Human  Understanding,  he  undertook  to  reply  to  them 
seriatim,  and  produced  in  French  the  Nouveaux  Essais  sur 
V EntendemeJit  Humain.     Here,  as  usual,  he  attempted  to 


Leibnitz  and  his  School. 


29 


find  a  middle  course  between  the  doctrine  of  innate  ideas 
as  held  by  the  Cartesians,  and  the  total  rejection  of  them 
by  the  great  English  metaphysician.  So  far,  indeed,  he  was 
constrained  to  admit  Locke's  arguments,  that  no  definite 
and  ready-formed  innate  ideas  or  innate  principles  can  be 
vindicated  as  forming  any  of  the  original  furniture  of  the 
human  mind.  But  then,  again,  the  doctrine  o( power  came 
to  his  aid,  and  led  him  to  see  that  though  such  ideas  could 
not  exist  really,  they  still  might  do  so  potentially;  that  if  we 
do  not  possess  innate  ideas,  we  still  possess  original  pouters 
or  capacities,  which  in  the  course  of  their  development 
necessarily  issue  in  certain  intellectual  results.  This  was 
the  burden  of  his  reply  to  Locke ;  and  the  judgment  of 
posterity  has  been,  that  he  has  really  put  his  finger  upon  the 
weak  point  in  Locke's  philosophy,  and  at  the-  same  time 
shown  in  what  direction  we  must  look  for  its  rectification 
and  completion. 

From  the  above  brief  explanations,  the  position  occupied 
by  Leibnitz  in  the  realm  of  European  philosophy  can  be 
readily  determined.  As  far  as  method  is  concerned,  he 
belongs  wholly  to  the  a  priori  school.  Philosophy  with  him 
follows  the  order  of  mathematic  science.  To  educe  a  body 
of  scientific  truth  of  whatever  kind,  it  is  necessary  first  to 
consult  the  consciousness,  to  evolve  out  of  it  certain 
axiomatic  truths  as  the  starting-point,  and  then  to  descend 
from  them  deductively  to  particulars.  In  this  respect  he 
was  strictly  speaking  a  Cartesian,  and  never  wholly  gave  up 
his  adherence  to  the  method  first  proposed. 

But  to  the  Cartesian  doctrines  he  objected.  He  had  no 
faith  in  the  system  which  interpreted  nature  through  the 
mere  elaboration  of  the  ideas  of  space  and  motion,  but 
introduced  at  the  very  outset  a  new  category,  that  of  power 
— of  power  individualizing  itself  through  all  the  realms  of 
creation,  and  each  unit  aiming  at  the  accomplishment  of 
its  final  purpose. 

Once  committed  to  this  line  of  research,  he  did  not  shrink 
from  the  consequences,  however  startling,  but  educed  in 
order  the  doctrines  of  monadology  and  pre-established 
harmony,  and  accepted  all  the  minor  conclusions,  physical 
and  moral,  which  they  brought  in  their  train.     Overlooking 


.4*«* 


30 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


Leibnitz  and  his  School. 


3^ 


the  extreme  improbability  of  many  of  these  conclusions,  he 
rejoiced  in  the  grand  and  almost  overwhelming  views  which 
his  philosophy  gave  of  the  infinite  power  and  wisdom  of 
God ;  slurred  over  the  question  of  moral  and  physical  evil 
as  mere  incidental  parts  of  the  whole  system  of  things,  and 
arising  necessarily  from  the  limitation  of  our  nature ;  and 
sank  back  into  a  happy  theory  of  optimism  consonant  >alike 
with  his  general  conception  of  the  universe  and  the  natural 
amiability  of  his  disposition. 

It  must  be  obvious  from  the  above  sketch  that  the  mind 
of  Leibnitz  was  of  a  broad,  all-embracing,  and  speculative 
type.  He  never  contented  himself  with  any  half  theories, 
but  aimed  at  founding  a  system  of  philosophy  which  should 
carry  with  it  a  consistent  and  logically  consecutive  inter- 
pretation of  the  entire  universe.  The  importance  of  his 
intellectual  labours  to  us  does  not  lie  in  their  intrinsic  value, 
so  much  as  in  their  historical  bearing  upon  what  went  before 
and  what  came  after  him  in  the  world  of  thought.  Thus 
viewed,  Leibnitz  appears  as  ihe  pivot  upon  which  the  whole 
fabric  of  German  philosophy  turns.  His  school  bridges 
over  the  gulph  between  the  rigid  dogmatic  ontological 
theories  of  Descartes  and  Spinoza  and  critical  researches 
instituted  by  Kant  into  the  structure  and  limits  of  the  human 
reason. 

Down  to  the  time  of  Leibnitz,  the  philosophical  teaching 
of  Germany  had  maintained  the  old  Scholastic  traditions, 
which  were  only  gradually  giving  way  to  the  new  and  more 
independent  spirit  evoked  by  the  genius  of  Descartes. 
Public  bodies  always  move  more  slowly  than  individuals  in 
the  way  of  reformation,  and  are  the  last  to  throw  off  old 
exploded  dogmas.  To  this  fact  it  may  have  been  owing, 
that  while  most  of  the  independent  thinkers  of  the  age 
sided  with  the  Cartesian  principles^  yet  they  had  as  yet 
obtained  but  a  precarious  footing  within  the  walls  of  the 
Universities.  But  for  some  years  before  the  death  of 
Leibnitz,  his  authority  began  to  be  sensibly  felt  throughout 
Germany ;  and  had  he  presented  his  opinions  in  a  more 
systematic  form  instead  of  scattering  them  through  a 
number  of  isolated  and  informal  treatises,  they,  would 
probably   have   displaced   the   old  philosophical  methods 


from  the  schools  of  learning,  as  they  had  already  done  from 
the  minds  of  the  more  advanced  thinkers  of  the  age. 

Before  this  could  be  accomplished,  it  was  necessary  that 
the  Leibnitzian  philosophy  should  be  arranged  and  syste- 
matized, that  the  scattered  threads  of  thought  should  be 
gathered  together  and  made  to  cohere  in  some  appreciable 
unity.  This  service  was  accomplished  by  the  industry  of 
his  most  celebrated  disciple,  John  Christian  Wolff. 

Wolff  was  born  at  Breslau  in  the  year  1697.     Already, 
while  attending  the  gymnasium  of  his  native  town,  he  was 
struck  with  the  fact  that  some  of  the  professors  pronounced 
the  study  of  philosophy  to  be  useless,  whilst  others  con- 
sidered it  indispensable.     The  period  of  which  we  are  now 
speaking,— I  mean  the  earlier  part  of  the  17th  century,— 
was  one  of  great  theological  strife,  particularly  in  Silesia. 
Wolff  was  early  brought  into  contact  with  these  religious 
controversies,    and   began,   while    a    student,   to    inquire 
earnestly   for   some   criterion   by   which   theological   truth 
could  be  determined  with  some  approach  to  certitude, — 
some  method  by  which  valid  deductions  could  be  made 
from  first  principles.     The  professors,  influenced  probably 
by  the  writings  of  Descartes  and  Spinoza,   could  simply 
point  him  to  geometry  as  being  the  only  example  of  a  sure 
method  by  which  one  truth  could  be  deduced  from  another 
with  absolute  certainty.     Following  their  advice,  he  entered 
the  University  of  Jena,  and  applied  himself  to  mathematics 
and  philosophy.      In   1702  he  graduated  at  Leipsic,  and 
there  first  made  acquaintance  with  Leibnitz  and  his  writ- 
ings.    Here,  at  length,  he  seems  to  have  found  the  kind 
of  satisfaction  he  had  long  sought;  and  from  that  time  he 
enrolled  himself  as  a  disciple  of  the  new  school. 

By  the  recommendation  of  Leibnitz,  he  was  called  to 
Halle  as  Professor  of  Mathematics  in  the  year  1707.  To 
his  mathematical  teaching  he  soon  added  lectures  on  physics 
and  philosophy,  and  rapidly  obtained  the  highest  populanty 
as  a  public  teacher.  Halle  was  then  the  centre  of  Protes- 
tant orthodoxy.  Franke,  Lange,  and  others  of  the  same 
school— excellent  men  for  the  most  part  in  practice,  but 
narrow-minded  in  principle— looked  with  concern  upon  the 
popularity  of  the  young  professor,  and,  fearing  the  influence 


32 


Philosophical  Fragjnents, 


Leibnitz  and  his  School. 


ill 


'til 


of  his  philosophical  teaching  upon  the  minds  of  the 
students,  formed  a  party  in  the  University  against  him,  and 
demanded  that  he  should  forthwith  give  up  the  teaching 
of  philosophy,  and  confine  himself  entirely  to  mathematics. 
Mutual  recrimination  ensued,  and  the  matter  was  carried 
to  Berlin,  where  a  commission  was  appointed  to  examine 
into  the  state  of  the  question.  This  committee  appears  to 
have  given  a  decision  in  favour  of  Wolff ;  whereupon  the 
orthodox  party,  not  to  be  frustrated,  made  an  appeal  to 
Frederick  i.  Frederick,  as  ignorant  of  philosophy  as  he 
was  bigoted  in  favour  of  his  theological  opinions,  would 
probably  have  exercised  some  rough  kind  of  justice  in  the 
affair,  had  the  accusers  not  been  wise  enough  to  take  the 
king  on  his  weak  side.  They  presented  to  him  in  frightful 
colours  the  doctrine  of  pre-established  harmony,  with  its 
moral  and  social  consequences,  and  showed  that,  for 
example,  a  deserter  from  the  royal  dragoons  could  not  on 
these  principles  be  held  responsible  for  his  flight,  or 
righteously  punished  for  it,  his  bodily  movements  being 
all  pre-ordained.  The  king  fell  into  the  trap,  interpreted 
the  doctrine  in  its  literal  application,  rose  up  in  horror  at 
the  thought  of  such  teaching  being  allowed  in  any  of  his 
own  Universities,  and  sent  a  rescript  ordering  Wolff  to  leave 
Halle  in  four-and-twenty  hours.  Franke  is  reported  to 
have  offered  public  thanks  on  the  following  Sunday  for 
his  removal. 

Driven  from  Prussia,  Wolff  found  an  asylum  at  Marburg, 
where  he  was  at  once  appointed  professor  by  the  Duke  of 
Hesse  Cassel,  and  received  the  most  flattering  attentions 
from  learned  bodies  in  England,  France,  and  Russia. 
Meantime  the  political  and  intellectual  horizon  changed. 
Frederick  the  Great  came  to  the  throne  ;  the  doctrines  of 
Leibnitz  spread  rapidly  throughout  Germany;  philosophic 
liberalism  became  rather  a  passport  to  royal  favour  than 
the  reverse,  and  Wolff  was  recalled  in  triumph  to  the  scene 
of  his  former  disgrace. 

Few  men  have  written  so  voluminously  and  systematically 
on  the  whole  range  of  the  moral  sciences  as  Wolff.  In 
addition  to  his  Latin  works,  he  composed  numerous  digests 
on  all  the  different  branches  of  those  sciences  in  the  ver- 


ii 


nacular  German,  and  was  perhaps  the  first  who  succeeded 
in  bending  the  German  tongue  (hitherto  but  little  used  in 
philosophical  teaching)  to  express  all  the  various  shades 
of  metaphysical  ideas. 

Wolff  begins  by  enumerating  three  distinct  kinds  of 
knowledge,  which  he  places  in  perfect  co-ordinate 
rank: — (i)  Historical  knowledge,  or  knowledge  of  facts; 
(2)  Philosophical  knowledge ;  and  (3)  Mathematical  know- 
ledge. Even  when  treating  specially  of  philosophy,  how- 
ever, he  admits  that  it  starts  from  experience,  and  defines 
its  purpose  to  be  to  explain  the  ground  and  principle  of 
things  as  we  find  them.  Philosophy  properly  so  called, 
he  divides  into  two  great  portions,  theoretical  and  practical. 
Theoretical  philosophy  comprehends  logic,  ontology,  cos- 
mology, psychology,  and  theology.  Practical  philosophy 
treats  of  morals,  jurisprudence,  and  politics.  Let  us  briefly 
explain  the  meaning  and  limits  of  these  different  branches 
in  the  Wolfian  acceptation  of  them. 

I.  Logic. — This  is  treated  by  Wolff  as  a  science  mainly 
on  the  basis  of  Aristotle,  but  coupled  with  an  attempt  to 
complete  what  Aristotle  had  left  imperfect,  and  to  mould 
the  doctrines  of  formal  logic  into  an  organum  which  should 
comprehend  every  kind  of  reasoning,  inductive,  deductive, 
and  mathematical.  The  three  first  figures,  as  originally  pro- 
pounded by  Aristotle,  are  restored  to  their  full  authority,  the 
fourth  figure  rejected  as  useless.  In  introducing  mathe- 
matical reasoning  as  forming  part  and  parcel  of  the  ordinary 
logic,  Wolff  raised  a  new  barrier  against  any  real  progress  in 
logical  science.  Within  the  circle  of  mathematical  quanti- 
ties, the  whole  distinction  of  general  and  particular  falls  to  the 
ground,  and  thus  the  essential  difference  between  induction 
and  deduction  disappears.  Whether  we  combine  a  number 
of  mathematical  parts  into  a  whole,  or  separate  a  whole  into 
its  parts, — whether  we  add  or  subtract,  multiply  or  divide, — 
the  result  is  equally  certain  and  equally  definite.  Not  so 
with  general  terms  in  the  ordinary  sense.  Here  a  single 
term  may  include  any  number  of  individuals,  each  having 
specific  differences ;  and  the  accuracy  of  the  conclusion 
depends  upon  a  principle  of  generalization  wholly  different 
from  what  occurs  in  the  case  of  mathematical  quantities, 

C 


¥ 


M! 


I 


34  Philosophical  Fragments. 

and  based  on  the  law  of  similarity.  Wolff,  not  perceiving 
that  all  real  improvement  in  the  science  of  logic  goes  on 
the  principle  of  separating  the  logical  processes  relating 
to  quantity  and  quality  into  two  different  departments  of 
reasoning,  combined  them  into  one.  As  a  further  con- 
sequence of  this  point  of  view,  he  made  no  specific  study 
of  induction,  but  treated  it  as  a  case  of  formal  logic  in  the 
Aristotelian  sense,  and  made  its  conclusions  depend  upon 
the  same  fundamental  axioms. 

This,  then,  was  the  instrument  with  which  Wolff  set  out 
on  his  philosophical  inquiries,  and  it  did  not,  assuredly, 
augur  well  for  their  final  success.  Having  once  laid  down 
his  method,  Wolff  went  on  to  apply  it  with  singular  industry 
and  uniformity  to  every  branch  of  moral  inquiry.  Whatever 
the  subject  might  be,  he  began  by  defining  the  terms,  and 
then  proceeded  to  draw  out,  after  the  type  of  mathematical 
research,  all  his  deductions  one  after  the  other,  in  exact 
conformity  with  his  definitions.  To  see  this,  let  us  turn  to 
the  second  department  of  philosophy,  namely, 

2.  Ontology. — Ontology,  according  to  Wolff,  is  the  science 
of  being.  It  begins  with  applying  the  fundamental  formula 
of  all  certitude,  the  principle  of  contradiction.  That  which 
implies  contradiction  is  the  impossible ;  that  which  involves 
no  contradiction  is  the  possible ;  and  when  it  appeals  to 
experience  as  well  as  the  reason,  it  becomes  the  real. 
Whatever  exists  is  called  a  thing;  that  which  is  neither  pos- 
sible nor  real  is  called  no  thing.  Everything  which  exists 
has  a  sufficient  reason.  That  which  has  its  basis  in  the 
essence  of  a  thing  is  called  a  property.  Space  is  the  co- 
ordination of  existence;  time  arises  from  our  own  per- 
ceptions, indicating  merely  the  subjective  order  of  events. 
Things,  as  we  see  them,  consist  of  parts  following  one 
another  in  a  specific  order,  and  are,  therefore,  compounded. 
Every  compound  must  occupy  space,  possess  length, 
breadth,  and  thickness,  must  be  divisible,  moveable,  change- 
able, etc.  All  compounds  are  composed  of  simples.  Every 
simple  is  a  monad,  and  every  monad  has  the  power  of 
self-action  and  self-determination. 

In  this  way  (the  above  is  merely  given  as  a  specimen 
of  the   method),  Wolff  proceeds  to  define  and  complete 


Ltibnitz  and  his  School. 


Leibnitz's  doctrines  of  monadology  and  pre-established 
harmony,  and  to  form  a  complete  logical  exposition  of  the 
universe  and  ihe  pomers  of  nature. 

3.  Psychology.— Thxs  branch  of  science  is  divided  by  Wolff 
into  two  parts  —  empirical  psychology  and  rational  psy- 
chology. Empirical  psychology  starts  from  observation; 
its  aim  is  to  distinguish  and  define  all  the  various  mental 
operations  of  which  we  are  conscious,  to  arrange  them  m 
order,  and  show  their  proper  functions  and  uses.  The 
object  of  rational  psychology  is  to  define  the  nature  of  the 
soul,  to  show  its  relation  to  the  body  (pre-established  har- 
mony), to  mark  out  the  distinction  between  the  human  soul 
and  that  of  the  lower  animals,  to  expound  the  groundwork 
of  its  personality  and  the  certainty  of  its  immortality  hereafter. 

Lastly,  Theology,  the  crowning-point  of  all  philosophical 
investigation,  theoretically  speaking,  has  to  put  into  our 
hands  the  proofs  of  the  existence  of  God,  to  show  the 
dependence  of  the  world  upon  His  absolute  will,  and  to 
explain  (after  the  manner  of  Leibnitz  in  his  Theodicee)  the 
moral  government  of  the  world,  the  existence  of  evil,  and 
the  final  state  of  perfection  to  which  all  things  infallibly 
tend.     Thus  far  theoretical  philosophy. 

The  second  main  branch  of  philosophy,  the  practical,  is 
treated  of  by  Wolff  with  still  greater  detail  and  completeness 
than  the  theoretical.  His  moral  system  is  based  upon  the 
fundamental  principle,  that  whatever  in  human  action  tends 
to  the  greater  perfection  of  our  being  is  good,  that  which 
tends  to  its  greater  imperfection  is  evil.  He  distinguishes 
this  idea  of  good,  however,  very  decidedly  from  utili- 
tarianism, making  the  perfection  of  our  being  the  ground  of 
our  happiness,  though  not  the  reason  why  we  seek  for  it. 
Perfection  is  desired  for  its  own  sake,  and  the  love  of  it  is 
grounded  in  a  law  of  nature,  which  law  is  but  an  expression 

of  the  will  of  God.  .    .,    •    •      ,,71^ 

The  general  complexion  of  the  Leibnitzian-Wolfian 
philosophy  requires  very  little  labour  either  to  expound 
or  to  comprehend.  Its  character  is  so  definite  that  the 
simplest  application  of  the  logical  faculty  enables  us  to 
place  the  whole  structure  (massive  as  it  is)  before  our  view. 
The  primary  object  which  Wolff  had  in  view,  no  doubt, 


36 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Leibnitz  and  his  School, 


37 


III 


was  to  popularize  the  doctrines  of  Leibnitz,  by  presenting 
them  in  the  most  tangible  form,  and  by  adapting  them  to 
the  teaching  of  the  Universities.  It  kept  up,  mdeed,  the 
old  allusions  and  charms  of  Scholasticism,  by  placmg  every- 
thing in  logical  order,  and  employing  the  old  logical  terms ; 
but  by  these  very  means  it  drove  Scholasticism  proper  out 
of  the  seats  of  learning,  and  introduced  itself  into  its  place. 
But  if  we  next  ask  what  was  the  real  scientific  value  of 
Wolff's  labours,  and  what  they  added  to  the  sum  of  human 
knowledge,  the  answer  does  not  lie  far  off.  They  added 
really  nothing  at  all.  They  extended,  indeed,  the  study  of 
philosophy  ;  they  made  it  speak  good  German  instead  of 
barbarous  Latin ;  they  cleared  away  many  false  notions  by 
making  everything  plain  as  far  as  it  went ;  but  they  left  the 
scope  of  human  thought  in  other  respects  exactly  where 

they  found  it. 

All  speculation  properly  so  called,  i.e.  all  really  pro- 
gressive and  productive  thinking,  was  laid  asleep  by  the 
paralyzing  influence  of  mere  system.  Everything  was 
accurately  defined ;  every  problem,  to  all  appearance,  was 
solved  ;  and  every  difficulty  in  the  natural  and  moral  world 
vanished  before  the  light  of  systematic  thought.  The 
doctrines  of  philosophy  were  presented  in  a  rounded  form. 
One  flowed,  as  by  a  perfect  logical  necessity,  from  the 
other;  and  the  most  complete  intellectual  satisfaction 
appeared  to  be  thus  secured.  The  equanimity  and  repose 
with  which  Wolff  proceeded  in  his  labours,  heaping  up  one 
definition  upon  another,  and  drawing  one  conclusion  after 
another,  was  something  quite  admirable.  If  any  funda- 
mental question  came  up,  the  principle  of  contradiction  at 
once  solved  it,  and  then  the  logical  play  went  forward 
peacefully  and  victoriously  as  ever.  Professors  accepted 
the  system  as  the  most  perfect  digest  of  philosophic  truth ; 
men  of  the  world  wondered  at  it,  and  saw  no  end  to  the 
story.  Frederick  the  Great  sent  a  special  message,  trusting 
that  Professor  Wolff  would  do  him  the  favour  of  bringing 
the  laws  of  nature  to  a  termination  as  soon  as  possible; 
and  Voltaire  did  not  lose  the  opportunity  of  levelling  his 
wit  at  the  interminable  dreariness  of  the  German  genius. 

The  truth  is,  the  whole  of  Wolff's  Encyclopcedia  of  the 


Sciences  was  verbal  rather  than  real.  There  was  no  in- 
ductive research  strictly  so  called,  no  real  scientific 
inquiry,  no  grappling  with  the  problems  of  existence,  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end.  Criticism  fell  to  its  lowest  ebb ; 
dogmatism  reigned  supreme.  If  we  were  to  express  the 
nature  of  Wolff's  philosophy  in  the  language  of  the  later 
German  systems,  we  should  say  that  he  treated  every 
subject  from  the  standpoint  of  the  understanding  ( Verstand), 
and  brought  nothing  under  the  critical  ken  of  the  reason 
( Vernurft), — that  is,  in  plain  language,  Wolff  philosophized 
simply  by  means  of  words,  built  up  the  most  admired  logical 
structures,  but  never  penetrated  beneath  his  definitions  into 
the  real  nature  of  things  themselves. 

.  While  the  philosophy  of  Leibnitz  was  thus  forced  into 
the  logical  formulas  of  the  Wolfian  system,  its  real  specu- 
lative significance  became  gradually  lost.  The  original 
meaning  of  the  monad ;  the  universal  aspect  of  the  idea  of 
pre-established  harmony ;  the  broad  speculative  conceptions 
by  which  Leibnitz  essayed  to  maintain  the  homogeneity  of 
the  universe  and  solve  the  great  problems  of  existence — all 
became  flattened  down  to  the  commonplace  categories  of 
cause  and  effect,  substance  and  attribute,  instrument  and 
purpose.  Body  and  soul  were  separated  as  representing  two 
distinct  worlds  of  being;  the  laws  and  operations  of  the 
universe  became  simply  the  means  to  certain  ends ;  all  the 
mystery  of  existence,  all  the  deep  things  of  God,  were 
practically  disowned,  and  nothing  but  the  flattest  naturalism 
remained.  Thus  was  generated  a  mode  of  philosophic 
thought  which  ended  in  the  production  of  what  has  been  so 
aptly  styled  as  *  Rationalismus  vulgaris.' 

We  should  convey  a  very  false  impression  of  the  labours 
and  influence  of  Wolff  if  we  represented  him  simply  as  a 
systematizer  of  Leibnitz.  The  Leibnitzian  philosophy,  in 
truth,  came  out  of  his  hands  very  different,  as  an  interpre- 
tation of  the  whole  universe  of  truth,  from  what  Leibnitz 
left  it  It  came  to  include  a  large  element  of  uncritical 
experience  on  the  one  side,  and  lost  equally  in  its  speculative 
depth  and  completeness  on  the  other.  In  the  very  outset 
of  Wolff's  preliminary  discourse,  we  find  ourselves  virtually 
in  a  new  territory,  savouring  largely  of  the  influence  which 


14 


38  Philosophical  Fragments. 

Bacon  and  Locke  had  already  exerted  upon  the  thought  of 
Europe      In  place  of  holding  up  abstract  ideas  and  princi- 
ples ^s  the  absolute  starting-pomt  of  all  human  knowledge 
Tolff  commences  by  claiming  one  -hole  department  of 
truth  as  due  to  the  direct  teachmg  of  the  senses.     By  the 
"d  of  the  senses,  he  affirms  we  come  to  know  -/<."  and 
what  takes  place  around  us.     This  we  may  term  h'stoncal 
knowledge.     But  when  we  inquire  for  the  ground  or  prin- 
ciple «S  things  are  as  they  are,  we  enter  another  region  of 
Suiry,  one  which  we  may  term  the  region  of  pMhsophual 
knowledge     All  philosophical  knowledge  rests  upon   the 
greal  law  of  sufficient  reason,  for  it  comprehends  everything 
L  which  we  can  assign  a  valid  scientific  reason  why  it 
exltl     Then,  lastly,  when  we  deduce  our  tnith  logically 
from  another  Already  established,  we  '"^X  «"  f^  *\=P^"^ 
of  mathematical  knowledge,  for  it  all   flows  firom  reason- 
ing  constructed   after  the  method  of  strict  mathematical 

demonstration.  .       ,„t,„„„  „r 

From  this  first   inventory  of  the  respective  spheres  of 
human  intelligence,  we  can  already  see  the  outlines  of  a 
Thole  system  of  philosophical  truth  faintly  shadowed  out 
before   us!     According  (o  this,  all  knowledge  begins   in 
experience,  for  without  experience  we  cannot  know  what  is, 
ofCe  any  facts  at  all  to  account  for.     But  the  facts  once 
being  given,  then  the  law  of  causality  comes  into  operation, 
and  teaches  us  to  estimate  what  is  grounded  in  right  reason 
and  what  not-what  can  take  its  place  as  a  portion  of 
unalterable  truth,  and  <vhat  belongs  to  the  passing  pheno- 
mena of  the  hour.     Then,  lastly,  having  got  these  fixed 
points  to  start  from,  we  have  only  to  develope  them  into 
the  different  branches  of  deductive  science  by  a  process  of 
strict  logical  reasoning,  and  the  work  of  the  philosopher  is 
complete      The   whole  Wolfian  philosophy,  when  closely 
examined,  is  found  to  fall  to  the  ground  between  tw^o  stools. 
It  holds  on  to  empiricism  as  the  starting-point   but  does 
not    use  our   experience   to   initiate  any  valid  inductive 
investigation ;    it   holds  on  to  abstract   reasoning  as   the 
method  oi  research,  but  employs  it  only  in  the  flat  formal 
logical  acceptation,  and  thus  shows  no  depth  of  speculative 
or  inductive  inquiry,  either  on  the  one  side  or  the  other. 


Leibnitz  and  his  Sclwol. 


39 


This  procedure  is  carried  out  through  no  less  than  twenty- 
three  folio  volumes.      Having  got  his  facts  as  given  by 
experience,  having  applied  the  principle  of  sufficient  reason 
to  determine  what  can  be  regarded  as  the  basis  of  fixed 
philosophic  truth  in  each  inquiry,  Wolff  proceeds  mathe- 
maticallv  to  lay  down  his  definitions  and  axioms,  to  deduce 
Te  proposition  from  another,  and  thus  to  build  up  a  vas 
superstructure  forming  an   entire  encyclopaedia  of  moral 
science      It  is  not  difficult  for  any  one  to  imagine,  even 
hough'he  never  looked  into  a  page  of  Wolff 'swr.tmgs,  how 
imposing  must  be  the  whole  building,  and  how  infinitely 
tedious,  scholastic,  and  mentally  unsatisfactory  the  process 
by  which  it  is  erected.      True,  the  Leibnitz.an  doctrines 
appeared  all  to  be  built  up  into  the  system  ;  but  how  far  that 
system  was  from  realizing  Leibnitz's  lofty  speculation  need 
not  now  be  further  insisted  on.  w^ia-.,  ^^^th 

In  the  year  1738,  '•«•  s'^'een  years  before  Wolffs  death, 
Ludovici  wrote  a  history  of  his  philosophy  {EntwurJ  etner 
vollstdndigen  Historic  der  Wolfischen  Philosophu)  in  3  vols 
8vo   in  which  he  enumerates  one  hundred  works  already 
published  by  adherents  to  that  school.     We  may  judge  from 
this  how  universal  was  the  acceptance  which  the  system 
found  throughout  Germany,  and  can  easily  imagine  the  vast 
number  of  other  works  (now  happily  sunk  into  oblivion) 
which  must  have  appeared  in  the  subsequent  fifty  years 
previous  to  the  ruinous  polemic  of  Kant     Stil,  notwith- 
standing the  shallow  dogmatism  which  this  school  favoured, 
and  propagated  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land 
it  would  be  wrong  blindly  to  depreciate  it,  or  regard  it  as 
having  been  any  other  than  a  benefit  to  the  times  in  which 

"  Those  ^times  were  critical.  The  deistic  writers  of  Eng- 
land-Collins, Tindall,  Chubb,  Shaftesbury,  etc.-had  pene- 
trated, before  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  into  Germany 
and  had  caused  everywhere  a  restless  dissatisfaction  as  to 
the  grounds  and  the  authority  of  the  reignmg  Protestant 
heolo-y.  Added  to  this,  Frederick  the  Great  (who  came 
to  thertrone  in  the  year  174°)  favoured  the  liberal  reaction, 
and  transplanted  to  Berlin  some  of  the  most  prominent  o 
the  French   deists,   mostly  adherents   of  the  sensational 


40 


Philosophical  Fragme?ils, 


Leibnitz  and  his  School 


41 


ii 


philosophy  of  Condillac  and  Helvetius.  The  age  showed 
itself  in  Germany,  as  elsewhere,  an  essentially  irreligious 
one ;  and  the  levelling  doctrines  of  the  French  materialists 
in  psychology,  morals,  and  religion  threatened  for  a  time 
to  gain  the  upper  hand  in  the  great  Teutonic  family.  The 
reasoning  of  the  English  deists  and  the  persiflage  of  the 
French  both  had  their  weight,  and  attracted  on  the  one 
side  the  more  learned,  on  the  other  the  more  fashionable 
classes  of  society  throughout  Germany. 

The  philosophy  of  Wolff  was  really  the  only  barrier  against 
which  the  waves  of  this  foreign  inundation  of  ideas  were 
broken.  So  dead  and  petrified  had  become  the  theology 
of  the  Lutheran  Church,  so  utterly  uncritical  and  unreason- 
ing the  grounds  on  which  it  was  ordinarily  based,  that  it 
would  have  stood  alone  no  chance  whatever  against  the 
combined  attacks  of  the  French  and  English  free-thinkers. 
Wolff,  however,  was  made  of  stronger  materials  than  most 
of  his  contemporaries ;  and  although  he  had  been  in  his 
time  a  victim  to  the  bigotry  of  intolerant  theologians  who 
could  not  estimate  his  work,  yet  the  very  party  which  perse- 
cuted him  were  now  fain  to  take  shelter  under  the  authority 
of  his  name,  and  the  comparative  rationality  of  his  moral 
and  theological  opinions. 

Wolff  was  himself  a  firm  believer  in  Christianity,  as 
Leibnitz  had  been  before  him ;  he  was  a  man  of  the  highest 
moral  character,  and  a  sincere  adherent  to  the  forms  of 
religious  worship.  Hence  in  his  entire  writings  nothing 
was  to  be  found  at  all  opposed  to  the  Christian  mysteries. 
His  great  object  appeared  to  be  to  place  the  grounds  of 
morality  and  of  natural  theology  upon  a  firm  basis,  and  to 
leave  the  essential  parts  of  Christian  doctrine  untouched, 
to  be  accepted  or  not  as  might  seem  best  by  the  religious 
consciousness  of  every  individual  and  every  age.  Added  to 
this,  the  philosophy  of  Wolff,  working  on  the  groundwork  of 
Leibnitz,  was  firmly  opposed  to  materialism,  advocated  the 
supreme  authority  of  the  reason  at  a  time  when  sensational- 
ism was  making  rapid  strides,  and  held  up  a  pure  and  lofty 
standard  of  ethics  just  when  the  reigning  French  authorities 
were  reducing  all  morality  to  the  most  undisguised  selfishness. 
All  these  advantages  are  not  to  be  lost  sight  of  in  our 


estimate  of  Wolff's  influence  upon  his  age ;  nor  must  we 
forget  that,  even  though  a  special  form  of  religious  rational- 
ism (rationalismus  vulgaris)  sprang,  historically  speaking, 
out  of  his  teaching,  yet  this  very  teaching  had  been  in  all 
probability  a  bulwark  against  a  philosophical  inundation  a 
thousand  times  more  fatal  to  all  human  progress. 

Putting  together,  then,  the  evil  influences  at  work  on  the 
one  side,  and  the  efforts  made  by  the  Wolfian  school  to 
counteract  them  on  the  other,  we  may  gain  a  tolerably 
correct  bird's-eye  view  of  the  general  tone  and  main  features 
of  the  philosophical  thinking  of  Europe  about  the  middle 
of  the  last  century,  and  previous  to  the  influence  which  the 
writings  of  Kant  soon  after  began  to  exercise  so  powerfully 
upon  it  The  lofty,  speculative,  and  acutely  critical  spirit 
which  had  characterized  the  renaissance  of  philosophy  in 
the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  had  passed  away. 
Commanding  intellects  like  those  of  Bacon,  Hobbes,  and 
Locke  on  the  one  side,  like  Descartes,  Spinoza,  and  Leib- 
nitz on  the  other,  no  longer  appeared.  To  master  their 
respective  principles,  to  put  them  in  a  clear  light  to  the 
common  understanding,  to  draw  out  their  results  in  the 
various  departments  of  thought,  this  was  the  highest  problem 
which  the  age  seemed  capable  of  grasping  or  working  out. 
But  the  great  minds  of  the  preceding  age,  though  they  had 
passed  away,  still  had  done  their  work,  and  left  their  im- 
press on  human  society.  Under  the  force  of  their  reasoning, 
the  old  Scholastic  doctrines  had  been  shattered,  the  Middle 
Age  principle  of  authority  had  been  ruined,  the  current  of 
the  world's  thinking  was  turned  altogether  into  new  channels. 

Physical  research,  inspired  to  new  activity  by  the  Baconian 
philosophy,  was  marching  onward  to  new  conquests- 
conquests  so  brilliant  that  there  is  no  wonder  if  the  study 
of  nature  absorbed  the  attention  of  thousands,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  all  beyond  it.  The  Cartesian  school  had  exerted 
a  power  hardly  less  decided  in  another  direction.  The 
supremacy  of  reason  had  been  here  made  valid  over  every 
other  pretension,  over  experience,  imagination,  conscience, 
and  faith,  and  had  thus  thrown  all  the  higher  inspira- 
tions of  the  soul  into  discredit  and  obscurity.  Had  the 
efforts   and   the  guidance  of  the  reason  been  maintained 


42 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Leibnitz  and  his  School, 


43 


in 


in  its  higher  intensity,  as  with  Leibnitz,— had  reason,  in  the 
sense  of  Vernunft  (a  sense  in  which  it  may  include  all  that 
is  loftiest  in  moral  aspiration  and  religious  instinct),  been 
still  in  the  ascendency, — no  deterioration  in  human  thought 
or  feeling  could  have  really  taken  place.     But  in  place  of 
this,  every  question  was  now  brought  down  to  the  level  of 
the   common   every-day  understanding   {Verstand).      The 
higher  reason  would  have  maintained  all  that  was  most 
sacred  in  human  nature,  only  clearing  away  the  dross  and 
bringing  out  what   was   essential   to   human   greatness   m 
stronger  relief.     But  this  loftier  movement  of  philosophical 
criticism   (as   we   said)    had   now,  in   the   middle   of  the 
eighteenth  century,  passed  away,  and  the  great  effort  of 
every  writer  who  attained  any  eminence  was  to  bring  the 
results  of  the  philosophical  thinking  of  the  past  down  to 
the  level  of  every-day  life.     In  doing  this,  it  swept  away 
from  amongst  the  people  all  the  forms  of  ancient  faith,  and 
had   nothing  but  a  very  commonplace  system  of  natural 
ideas  to  put  in  their  place. 

The  necessity  of  making  popular  and  plain  what  had 
hitherto  been  accessible  only  to  the  cultivated  and  philo- 
sophic intellect  of  the  day,  produced,  it  is  true,  a  most 
beneficial   effect   upon   the  style   of  literary  composition. 
The   writers  of  the   day,   instead   of  struggling  with  new 
problems  and  attempting  to  express  their  thoughts  in  very 
moderate  Latin  or  rough  uncultivated  German,  now  sought 
to  give  a  point  and  a  polish  to  the  language  of  common 
life,  and  to  render  the  results  of  philosophy  as  attractive  as 
possible  to  the  ever-increasing  mass  of  readers  in  the  middle 
classes  of  society.     Moses  Mendelssohn,  Gellert,  and  Abbt 
led  the  way  in  this  reform  of  prose  composition,  and  Lessing, 
Herder,  and  Wieland  followed  soon  after.     Indeed,  from 
the  attempt  to  popularize  philosophy  and  carry  its  results 
amongst  the  people  at  large,  may  be  dated  the  first  great 
impulse   towards  the  formation  and  rise  of  the   modern 
German  literature.     This  whole  movement  towards  popu- 
larizing  the    doctrines  of  philosophy,   is   what   is   usually 
known  by   the   '  deutsche  Aufklarung,'   the    authors  and 
abettors   of   which   have   been    sometimes    designated   in 
England  as  the  illuminati  of  the  age.      Perhaps  I  shall 


take  the  English  reader  best  into  the  centre  of  this  whole 
tone  of  thinking,  if  I  give  a  brief  sketch  of  the  writings  of 
Moses  Mendelssohn.  . 

Moses  Mendelssohn  was  born  at  Dessau  in  the  year  1729, 
of  Jewish  parents.     At  that  period  an  almost  total  separa- 
tion  existed   in    Germany   between    the    Jewish   and   the 
Christian  population.      The   former,  denied  the  ordinary 
privileges  of  citizenship,  became  an  exclusive  class,  asso- 
ciated only  amongst  themselves,  formed  a  peculiar  dialect, 
compounded  of  the  German  and  Hebrew  languages,  repu- 
diated all  instruction  except  what  was  given  by  their  own 
teachers  through  the  medium  of  the  Hebrew  character,  and 
based  all  higher  culture  upon  the  study  of  the  Talmud. 
This  was  the  school  in  which  the  young  Moses  was  brought 
up     At  Dessau  there  was  a  learned  rabbi,  named  Frankel, 
under  whom  he  studied,  making  extraordinary  proficiency 
in  his  knowledge  of  the  Old  Testament,  of  the  Talmud,  and 
of  the  philosophical  works  of  Maimonides.     So  perfect  was 
his  knowledge  of  Hebrew,  that  in  after  life  he  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  contributing  to  a  periodical  written  in  that  language, 
and  composed  a  logic  in  the  same  for  the  use  of  the  higher 

Anhe  age  of  thirteen  he  accompanied  the  Rabbi  Frankel 
to  Berlin,  lived  in  the  greatest  poverty  until  he  was  twenty 
years  of  age,  dividing  his  time  between  any  kind  of  occupa- 
tion that  could  procure  him  sufficient  food  for  bare  existence 
and  the  prosecution  of  his  studies.  During  this  period  he 
made  himself  acquainted  with  the  Latin,  French,  and 
English  languages,  and  laid  the  foundation  for  an  extensive 
knowledge  of  mathematics  and  philosophy. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-one  he  procured  a  situation  at  a 
silk  warehouse,  where  his  services  were  only  required  about 
six  hours  per  day,  and  where  he  received  what  was,  for 
him,  ample  means  of  support  and  comfort.  In  this  estab- 
lishment he  remained,  highly  esteemed  for  his  probity,  all 
the  remainder  of  his  life.  In  the  year  1754  he  had  the 
good  fortune  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Lessing,  who  at 
once  recognised  in  Mendelssohn  a  man  of  noble  character 
and  highly  intellectual  bearing.  Under  Lessing  s  guidance, 
Mendelssohn  made  systematic  progress  in  self-culture,  and 


44 


Philosophical  Fragmefits. 


Leibnitz  and  his  School. 


45 


soon  had  occasion  to  show  how  thorough  that  self-culture 
had  really  been. 

Amongst  other  books,  Lessing  gave  him  to  read  a  copy 
of  Lord  Shaftesbury's  Characteristics  of  Man,  The  charm 
and  flow  of  the  style  delighted  him,  and  he  set  to  work  to 
compose  some  dialogues,  which  should  combine  in  the 
same  way  philosophical  depth  with  the  greatest  purity  of 
diction.  I^essing  was  delighted  with  these  attempts,  and 
at  once  had  them  printed  without  the  author's  knowledge ; 
and  thus  it  was  that  he  entered  unknowingly  upon  the  world 
of  literary  authorship. 

These  dialogues  show  that  the  mind  of  Mendelssohn  had 
been  dweUing  long  amongst  the  ideas  of  Spinoza  and  Leib- 
nitz. He  had  been  forcibly,  perhaps  equally,  attracted  to 
both,  and  now  experienced  the  necessity  of  thinking  himself 
clear  upon  the  points  of  similarity  and  of  difference  between 
them.  The  main  object  of  these  dialogues  is  to  compare 
the  principal  features  of  those  two  great  thinkers  together, 
to  show  in  what  respect  the  Leibnitzian  principles  were  in- 
volved in  the  doctrines  of  Spinoza,  and  to  detect  where 
the  TrpwTov  i/^cvSos  lay,  which  led  the  latter  into  his  rigid 
and  acknowledgedly  untenable  hypotheses  of  pantheism 
and  moral  necessity.  The  work  is  chiefly  remarkable,  first, 
as  being  the  production  of  so  young  and  untrained  a  writer  •, 
and  secondly,  as  illustrating  the  power  he  possessed,  and 
afterwards  still  further  cultivated,  of  presenting  his  thoughts 
in  the  most  attractive  and  insinuating  form. 

Mendelssohn's  next  work  was  a  memoir,  sent  to  and 
crowned  by  the  Academy  of  Science  at  Berlin,  on  Evidence 
in  the  Metaphysical  Sciences.  In  this  treatise  he  proceeds 
still  on  the  basis  of  the  Leibnitz-Wolfian  philosophy,  show- 
ing that  the  evidence  we  have  of  mathematical  truth  depends 
upon  an  application  of  the  principle  of  contradiction  drawn 
out  into  detail ;  and  that  when  we  proceed  from  quantitative 
to  qualitative  analysis,  the  same  principle  holds  good,  only 
beset  with  far  more  difticulty  in  its  practical  application. 
He  concludes  by  basing  the  evidence  both  of  morals  and 
natural  theology  upon  the  fundamental  principles  of  reason, 
developing  and  placing  in  a  clearer  light  the  doctrines  which 
Woltf  had  already  laid  down  in  his  Encyclopcedia  of  Sciences, 


The  work,  however,  which  of  all  others  brought  Mendel- 
ssohn into  public  notice  as  a  philosophic  writer  was  his 
PhcEdo,  or  dialogues  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  occa- 
sioned primarily  by  the  death  of  his  friend  Abbt.  The 
idea  of  this  composition  was  a  bold  one,  and  needed  great 
skill  to  work  out.  It  is  partly  a  translation  of  the  Phc^do 
of  Plato,  but  it  substitutes,  in  the  more  important  and 
argumentative  portions,  where  Socrates  discourses  on  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  what  he  regarded  as  the  most  real 
and  cogent  arguments  for  immortality,  in  place  of  those 
brought  forward  by  Plato  himself.  The  spirit  of  the 
Platonic  dialogue  is  kept  up  throughout  with  wonderful 
beauty,  and  the  whole  work  shows  a  polish  and  perfection 
of  style  quite  unusual  at  that  period.  The  arguments  he 
urges  are  partly  metaphysical  and  pardy  moral,  partly  based 
upon  the  separate  existence  of  the  soul,  its  fundamental 
attributes,  its  unity,  the  impossibility  of  annihilation,  etc., 
and  partly  upon  the  moral  phenomena  of  human  life,  the 
distinction  of  good  and  evil,  the  natural  aspirations  we  have 
after  perfection,  and  the  necessity  of  a  future  life  in  order 
to  satisfy  the  exigencies  of  moral  law  in  the  apportionment 
of  reward  and  punishment.  The  work  spoke,  at  any  rate, 
to  the  spirit  of  the  age,  was  translated  into  several  languages, 
and  spread  the  author's  fame  as  a  writer  of  extraordinary 
merit  more  or  less  throughout  the  whole  of  Europe. 

We  pass  over  now  several  minor  publications,  such  as 
those  on  the  feelings,  on  the  philosophy  of  the  fine  arts,  on 
Pope  as  a  metaphysician,  etc.,  and  shall  refer  simply  to  his 
last  and  in  many  respects  his  most  important  eff"ort  in  the 
department  of  philosophy,— I  mean  the  Morning  Lectures 
iMorgenstunden).  These  lectures  were  professedly  designed 
to  establish  the  proofs  of  the  existence  of  a  God ;  but 
they  really  include  a  complete  statement  of  Mendelssohn's 
philosophical  views,  leading  up  step  by  step  from  first 
principles  to  the  great  conclusion  at  which  he  aimed. 

They  commence  by  starting  the  question,  What  is  truth  ? 
To  answer  this  he  goes  at  some  length  into  an  explanation 
of  the  difl'erent  kinds  of  human  knowledge.  First  there  is 
the  knowledge  we  gain  immediately  by  the  senses.  This  is 
intuitive,  and  may  be  pronounced  in  many  respects  certain; 


it 


40 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


Leibnitz  and  his  School. 


47 


but  still  no  definite  limits  can  be  fixed  to  it  with  anything 
approaching  to  accuracy.  Secondly,  there  is  purely  rational 
knowledge,  that  which  depends  upon  the  very  laws  and 
essential  processes  of  the  understanding.  This  knowledge  is 
purely  abstract  and  absolutely  certain,  as  we  see  in  the  case 
of  mathematical  science.  Thirdly,  there  is  the  knowledge 
of  the  real,  comprehending  all  the  conclusions  we  can 
draw,  inductively  or  deductively,  by  means  of  the  under- 
standing, respecting  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  outward 
world.  Having  discussed  the  evidence  on  which  each  of 
these  kinds  of  knowledge  rests,  he  draws  the  final  conclusion 
that  truth  consists  of  knowledge  of  every  kind,  so  far  as  it 
has  any  positive  faculty  of  the  soul  for  its  foundation  ;  and 
that  untruth,  on  the  contrary,  consists  in  ideas  which  have 
suffered  change  through  the  incapacity  or  limitation  of  our 
positive  faculties.  Mendelssohn  differs  here  from  Wolff, 
inasmuch  as  he  does  not  admit  the  principle  of  causality 
amongst  our  a  priori  principles  of  knowledge,  but  bases  it 
upon  experience  and  induction. 

Having  cleared  the  way  by  a  discussion  of  the  principles 
of  human  knowledge  generally,  Mendelssohn  proceeds  to  the 
main  subject  of  his  lectures,  viz.  the  existence  of  a  God. 
He  commences  by  criticising  the  principal  systems  of  philo- 
sophy and  natural  theology  which  had  been  already  pro- 
pounded, shows  the  relative  use  of  speculative  reason  and 
common  sense  (giving  the  decided  superiority  to  the  latter), 
discusses  with  great  acuteness  the  respective  principles  of 
the  idealists,  the  epicureans,  and  the  Spinozists,  and  con- 
centrates his  own  fundamental  doctrine  into  the  following 
axioms : — 

I.  Whatever  is  true  must  be  acknowledged  as  such  by 
a  positive  faculty  of  thought. 

II.  That  cannot  be  said  to  exist  whose  existence  is  not 
vouched  for  by  a  positive  faculty  of  thought. 

III.  That  must  exist  whose  non-existence  cannot  be 
imagined  by  a  reasonable  being. 

IV.  If  a  proposition  (A  =  B)  is  tnie,  there  must  be  a 
recognised  connection  in  thought  between  the  subject  A  and 
the  predicate  B. 


t 

* 

S 


V.  This  connection  rests  either  upon  the  matter  of  our 
knowledge  of  subject  A,  or  upon  the  form. 

VI.  If,  therefore,  the  real  existence  of  any  idea  A  is 
affirmed,  then  A  must  be  a  reality,  either  because  it  is  only 
thinkable  by  means  of  this  predicate,  or  because  it  cannot 
otherwise  be  an  object  of  intellectual  approval. 

VII.  From  this  it  immediately  follows,  that  if  the  pro- 
position A  is  not  B,  is  equally  thinkable  with  the  proposition 
A  is  B,  the  latter  can  only  be  pronounced  true  in  so  far  as  it 
is  the  best,  and  has  been  chosen,  approved,  and  brought  into 
existence  by  a  free  agent.  In  other  words,  of  two  thinkable 
or  possible  things,  that  can  only  be  the  real  which  is  the  best. 

The  use  which  Mendelssohn  makes  of  these  axioms  in  his 
natural  theology  is  this.     In  the  world  of  nature,  as  in  that 
of  human  existence,  we  are  surrounded  by  a  vast  multiplicity 
of  facts  which  do  not  come  at  all  under  the  category  of 
necessity,  but  which  are  purely  contingent.     The  question 
then  comes.  How  are  we  to  explain  these  phenomena?     It 
is  quite  possible,  a  priori,  that  every  natural  object  should 
have  been  formed,  in  some  respects,  different  from  what 
//  is ;  quite  possible  that  the  human  faculties  and  feelings 
should  have  borne  a  different  stamp  from  what  they  actualily 
do ;  quite  possible,  in  a  word,  that  the  universe  we  live  in 
should  have  been  another  kind  of  universe.     Why  is  it  not 
so?     Did  it  chance  to  come  as  it  is?     What  is  chance  but 
a  mere  word  which  covers  our  own  ignorance  of  causality  ? 
Has  the  universe  always  been  one  and  the  same?     No; 
we  see  a  thousand  events  in  nature  occurring  which  might 
have  occurred  differently.    Or  are  things  connected  together 
in  an  infinite  series  of  cause  and  effect?     If  so,  why  are 
they  connected  in  this  way,  and  in  no  other  ?     The  only 
possible  solution  of  the  phenomena  is,  that  the  universe 
exists  as  it  does  by  free  choice.      Then  there  must  be  a 
chooser,  then  there  must  be  a  supreme  intelligence  and 
will— that  is,  there  must  be  a  God.      It  will  be  apparent 
at  once  that  this  argument  approaches  far  more  nearly  to 
Kant's  standpoint  of  the  practical  reason  than  any  of  the 
ontological  reasonings  which  went  before  in  the  Cartesian 
and  Wolfian  schools  of  philosophy. 


48 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


All  the  reasonings  of  Mendelssohn,  however,  and  of  those 
who  attempted  to  apply  the  Wolfian  metaphysics  to  the 
great  questions  in  morals  and  natural  theology,  failed  to  meet 
the  requirements  of  the  age,  and  to  raise  a  bulwark  agamst 
those  writers  who  were  sapping  the  foundations  of  all  human 
truth.  The  flood  of  scepticism  rolled  ever  onwards.  Bayle 
and  the  French  writers  of  his  class  made  sad  havoc  of  the 
ideas  upon  which  the  illuminati  essayed  to  build  up  their 
moral  and  religious  system,  and  deluged  Germany  as  well 
as  France  with  their  principles.  Hume,  in  like  manner,  in 
our  own  country,  by  means  of  a  still  more  acute  and  meta- 
physical strain  of  argument,  undermined  all  the  fixed  laws 
of  belief,  and  left  nothing  standing  but  a  succession  of 
subjective  feelings  and  impressions,  to  which  alone  he 
attributed  infallible  certainty. 

It  was  this  last  effort  of  scepticism  which  awakened  out 
of  his  dogmatic  slumbers  a  thinker  who  was  destined,  ere 
long,  to  hold  in  check  the  shallow  rationalism  as  well  as 
the  empirical  sensationalism  of  the  age,  and  turn  the  whole 
thought  of  Europe  into  a  deeper  channel.  That  thinker 
was  Emmanuel  Kant. 


CHAPTER    III. 
Immanuel  Kant. 

I. 

JUST  about  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the 
name  of  Immanuel  Kant  begins  to  be  heard  as  carry- 
ing with  it  some  weight  and  influence  in  the  strife  of 
human  thought.  Kant  was  born  on  the  2  2d  of  April  1724, 
The  place  of  his  birth  was  Konigsberg,  the  spot  which  was 
likewise  the  scene  of  all  his  subsequent  labours,  and  which 
his  name  has  since  rendered  illustrious  in  the  world  of 
philosophy.  Konigsberg  is  a  somewhat  old-fashioned  city, 
formerly  the  capital  of  the  whole  province  of  East  Prussia, 
and  numbering  at  present  about  60,000  inhabitants.  It 
stands,  like  Rome,  on  seven  hills,  but  the  country  around 
is  flat,  and  the  climate  moist  and  chilly.  Geographically 
speaking,  it  overlooks  well-nigh  the  uttermost  northern  verge 
of  modern  culture. 

Socially  speaking,  Kant's  birth  was  by  no  means  illus- 
trious. His  father  was  a  saddler  by  trade,  whose  family 
had  migrated  from  Scotland  a  few  generations  before.  Up 
to  the  time  when  our  philosopher  was  born,  and  some  years, 
indeed,  later,  the  original  spelling  of  the  name  Cant  was 
always  retained.  Kant  himself  changed  it,  to  avoid,  he 
said,  the  chances  of  mispronunciation.  The  name  Cant  is 
still  found  not  very  unfrequently  in  the  northern  portions  of 
Great  Britain. 

The  mother  of  the  philosopher  was  of  a  genuine  North 
German  stock.  Her  maiden  name  was  Regina  Dorothea 
Reuter.  In  worldly  circumstances  the  parents  of  Immanuel 
Kant  were  poor,  though  not  needy.  The  family  consisted 
of  four  daughters  and  one  other  son,  who  subsequently 
became   a  teacher,   and   then   a   Lutheran   clergyman    in 

D 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


50 

Curland.    Of  these  five  children  Immanuel  was  the  youngest 

^''we^'are  here  almost  inclined  to  pause  and  ask  what  there 
could  possibly  be  in  such  a  home,  and  in  the  circumstances 
of  such  a  family,  to  nurture  up  a  mind  for  so  commandmg 
a  height  of  philosophic  culture.     Somethmg  perhaps  may 
have  been  due  to  the  blending  of  the  Scottish  and  North 
German  blood,  and  the  proclivities  inherent  in  both   to 
scientific  and  abstract  thought.     But  apart  from  this,  Kant  s 
earlv  life  was  by  no  means  unadapted  to  inspire  at  once 
mental  independence  and  moral  elevation.     The  father  was 
r  man    of   simple   habits,   rigid   integrity,   and  Christian 
principles.     The   mother   also    appears    to    have    been    a 
woman  of  uncommon  excellence,  possessing  a  high  tone  ot 
thought,  and  an  elevation  of  character  far  beyond  what  is 
usual  in  her  own,  or  indeed  in  any  other  rank  of  life.     The 
secret  of  this  lay  in  the  fact  that  she  was  ardently  attached 
to  the  principles  and  habits  of  the  Pietists  of  that  day.     The 
names  Pietist  and  Pietism  were  no  doubt  originally  given 
as  terms  of  reproach,  and  cause  enough  for  reproach  there 
may  naturally  have  been  amongst  many  who  bore   that 
appellation.     But  it  is  always  well,  in  the  case  of  sobrique  s 
of  this  kind,  to  look  away  from  the  judgments  of  opponents 
and  try  to  discover  what  of  truth  and  goodness  may  he 
underneath  them.    The  Pietists,  as  a  sect  within  the  Lutheran 
Church,  undoubtedly  arose  out  of  a  natural  reaction  against 
the  stiff-ened  formalism  to  which  that  church  had  become 
reduced  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  century.     They  bore, 
therefore,  the  same  relation  to  the  Lutheran  community 
abroad  as  Methodism  somewhat  later  bore  to  the  Church  ot 
England  at  home.    The  originators  of  the  movement  Spener, 
Franke,  and  Gottfried  Arnold,  were  men  of  genuine  Christian 
character,  and  sought  to  substitute  for  mere  verbal  orthodoxy 
the  religion  of  feeling,  fervour,  and  benevolent  action.     It 
was  just  in  the  first  blush  of  this  new  religious  movement, 
before  it   had  become   tainted  either  with   hypocrisy  or 
fanaticism,   that   Kant's   mother  was  brought  Hfder   the 
influence  of  one  of  its  most  active  promoters,  Dr.  Albert 
Schultz.     Schultz  was  at  once  an  eloquent  preacher  and  an 
enlightened  educationist,  and  it  was  undoubtedly  under  his 


Immamiel  Kant, 


51 


advice  and  guidance  that  the  young  Immanuel  was  destined 
by  his  parents  to  the  college  and  the  church.  In  *  free  and 
enlightened'  England,  such  a  thought  would,  of  course, 
be  simply  absurd.  How  could  a  humble  saddler,  with  five 
children  to  provide  for  out  of  a  slender  income,  harbour  the 
bare  idea  of  sending  any  son  of  his  to  the  high  school  and 
the  college,  and  of  seeing  him  eventually  assume  the  clerical 
dignity?  But  in  Germany  this  is  no  unusual  procedure. 
The  best  educational  establishments  there,  from  the  town 
school  up  to  the  University,  are  open  to  all,  and  at  a  rate  of 
expenditure  which  brings  them  within  the  reach  of  every 
citizen  raised  at  all  above  the  mere  labouring  classes. 

Kant  was  thus  from  a  child  destined  for  the  church, 
and  his  pietistic  mother,  inspired  by  such  a  prospect,  used 
all  her  influence  to  imbue  his  mind  with  noble  thoughts 
and  high  religious  purposes.  Of  these  attempts,  Kant  ever 
retained  a  lively  recollection.  *  My  mother,'  he  remarked, 
late  in  life,  to  one  of  his  friends,  '  was  an  affectionate,  kind- 
hearted,  pious,  upright  woman,  as  well  as  a  tender  parent, 
one  who  directed  her  children  into  the  way  of  piety  a.nd 
truth  by  religious  instruction  and  a  virtuous  example.  She 
oftentimes  conducted  me  out  of  the  town  to  show  me  the 
works  of  God,  spoke  with  pious  rapture  of  His  power, 
wisdom,  and  goodness,  and  impressed  my  heart  with  a  deep 
reverence  for  the  Creator  of  all  things.  Never  shall  I 
forget  her ;  for  she  it  was  who  planted  and  nourished  in  me 
the  first  germ  of  goodness,  who  opened  my  heart  to  the 
impressions  of  nature,  who  awakened  and  enlarged  my 
ideas,  and  by  her  teaching  exerted  a  beneficial  influence 
over  my  whole  life.' 

On  other  occasions,  Kant  would  speak  in  similar  terms 
of  the  stern  and  rigid  morality  which  prevailed  in  his  early 
home ;  of  the  scrupulous  integrity  of  his  father  in  all  his 
commercial  transactions,  and  the  truthfulness  which  per- 
vaded all  his  words  and  deeds.  '  Never,'  said  he,  *  did  I 
witness  from  my  parents,  even  in  the  smallest  particular, 
anything  unworthy  or  improper.'  Everything  in  his  early 
home  appears  to  have  been  directed  according  to  that  in- 
ward imperative  which  Kant  in  later  life  elevated  to  the 
principle  and  basis  of  all  moral  truth.     We  see  here  how 


^_ 


5  2  Philosophical  Fragments. 

close  was  the  connection  between  a  right  disposition  of  the 
will  and  the  feelings  towards  rectitude  -the  one  hand  and 
sound  moral  theories  on  the  other.  The  humble  saOd  er 
n  h"s  shop  was  as  much  the  author  of  the  '  practical  philo- 
sophy,' which  based  itself  on  the  categoric  >nipera  ive  as 
the  orofessor  in  his  chair.  He  first  possessed  it  as  an  in- 
ward pinc^le,  as  a  determination  of  the  will  towards  the 
Zd  and  the  true  ;  all  that  the  philosopher  afterwards  did 
was  to  elevate  what  already  existed  there  in  its  fresh  and 
vital  spontaneity  into  a  connected  system  of  abstract  ideas. 

II. 

Kant's  first  instruction  was  received  in  the  Hospital-Schule 
of  hfs  native  town.     His  mode  of  life,  and  all  the  details  of 
hsmenul  progress  in  this  early  period  of  his  history,  are 
now  env^tp^^^^^    a  cloud  of  oblivion.     His  parents,  uncon- 
scTous  of  hfs  future  fame,  were  not  careful  to  treasure  up 
he  everyday  events  of  a  schoolboy's  life,  and  Kant  himself 
was  by  no  means  one  to  communicate  to  the  curious  the 
details  of  his  procedure  at  the  free  school,  or  in  the  saddler  s 
humbe  abode.     We  may  conjecture,  however,  that  he  made 
sadsfactory  progress  in  his  studies,  since  at  eight  years  of 
aje  hf  STeVparatory  school,  and  was  received  into 
the  Collegium  Fredericianum,  of  which  Dr.  Schultz  was  the 
director     The  next  eight  years  of  Kant's  life,  namely  a.d. 
^7,2  ^o  A  D   1740,  werl  spent  in  such  studies  as  are  usually 
pursued  by  hJst  who  enter  the  Gernian  Gymnasia  with  a 
vkw  to  some  future  profession.     By  the  dim  intimation  o 
mino   events  alone  can  we  conjecture  what  was  his  cour  e 
^fhfe  during  this  period.     His  chief  pleasure  appears    o 
have  been  in"  the  study  of  Latin  literature,  and  so  deeply 
dd  he  drink  into  the  sW  of  it  that  he  -ed  to  r  ad    h 
I^tin  authors  with  delight  even  to  the  latest  penod  of  h  s 
life    and  frequently  recited  long  passages  from  the  poets 
which  he  had  early  committed  to  memory,  without  the  least 

^'SS^  most  intimate  companions  were  Rhunken  after 
wards  so  celebrated  as  a  classical  scholar,  ^nd  Cunde      A 
slight  circumstance  which  has  ^^en  Preserved  from  Kant 
table  talk,  shows  that  there  must  have  existed  in  hira  at 


Immamiel  Kant, 


53 


this  time  an  eager  longing  for  literary  eminence.  The  three 
friends  were  conversing  one  day  as  to  how  they  ought  to 
write  their  names  when  they  should  grow  up,  and  indite 
learned  works  on  classical  literature.  Rhunken,  it  was 
acrreed,  was  to  be  Rhunkenius;  Cunde,  Cundeus;  and  Kant, 
Kantius.  The  first  of  the  three,  as  the  learned  world  knows, 
kept  his  word ;  and  it  is  said  that  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion he  deplored  the  loss  of  Kant's  early  classical  aspirations, 
expressing,  at  the  same  time,  his  high  idea  of  the  services 
such  a  mind  might  have  rendered  in  the  department  of  the 
litem  hiimaniores,  had  not  Philosophia  led  his  affections 

into  the  wrong  path.^ 

In  his  thirteenth  year,  Kant  had  the  misfortune  to  lose 
his  mother,  who  fell  a  sacrifice  to  the  noble  devotedness 
she  showed  in  attending  the  sick-bed  of  a  friend.  His 
father  appears  to  have  been  then  in  very  moderate  circum- 
stances, having  five  young  children  to  provide  for.  An 
uncle,  however,  who  probably  had  no  family  of  his  own, 
crave  the  young  scholar  needful  support,  and  kindly  con- 
dnued  it  to  him  while  at  college,  and  even  on  various 
subsequent  occasions,  as  circumstances  required. 

Thus  then,  prepared  by  a  sound  classical  training,  and 
moderately   supported  by  his    uncle's  benevolence,   Kant 
entered  the  University  of  Konigsberg  at  the  opening  of  the 
winter  session  of  1740.     And  here  his  mmd  began  to  take 
a  wider  range,  and  to  become  more  deeply  interested  in 
scientific  pursuits.     In  addition  to  a  diligent  continuance 
of  his  classical  studies,  he  began  to  devote  himself  vvith 
ardour  to   mathematics,   physics,    and    philosophy.       Ihe 
teacher   who   worked   most   actively  upon   his   mind   was 
Martin  Knutzen,  professor  of  mathematics  and  philosophy 
in  the  University  of  Konigsberg.     Next  to  him,  the  lectures 
of  Teste,  professor  of  physics,  appear  to  have  attracted  his 
attention.     Indeed,  physical  science  in  all  its  branches  was 
a  favourite  pursuit  of  Kant  during  his  whole  life.     His  own 
lectures  on  physical  geography  were  those  in  which  he  ap- 

1  Rhunken  retained  a  much  less  affectionate  remembrance  than  Kant 
did  of  the  Collegium  Fredericianum  and  its  Pi^^^gl^,^^^^^?  *"^;.  "^ 
terms  it  in  one  of  his  letters,  preserved  by  Dr.  Rmk^  a  tetncam, 
quidera,  sed  utilem  tamen  nee  poenitendam  fanaticorum  disciplmam. 


!  S\ 


54 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


Immanuel  Kant. 


55 


I 


i 


peared,  as  a  professor,  to  take  especial  delight ;  and  every 
fact  whicli  positive  science  revealed  during  that  most  fruit- 
ful age — the  age  of  Leibnitz  and  Newton — was  apprehended 
and  treasured  up  by  him  with  the  greatest  avidity. 

As  Kant  was  intended  to  enter  the  church,  he  began, 
after  one  or  two  sessions,  to  attend  the  theological  faculty. 
The  only  course  in  this  department  of  which  any  particular 
mention  is  made  in  his  life,  is  that  of  Dr.  Schultz,  a  cele- 
brated Wolfian,  on  dogmatics.  So  diligently  did  Kant 
apply  himself  to  these  lectures,  that  he  repeated  and  ex- 
pounded them  to  a  class  of  his  fellow-students,  in  order  to 
procure  some  little  aid  towards  his  continuance  in  the 
University.  But  Knutzen's  instructions  still  remained  for 
him  the  chief  incentives  to  intellectual  labour.  It  was  here 
he  found  the  food  for  which  his  mind  most  ardently  longed, 
and  here  that  his  future  course  of  intellectual  activity  was 
chiefly  determined.  The  ardour  with  which  he  pursued 
the  more  recondite  questions  in  mathematics  and  physics 
is  shown  by  his  first  attempt  at  authorship.  During  the 
last  year  of  his  college  course,  he  wrote  a  treatise  (published 
with  the  date  1746),  the  full  title  of  which  is  as  follows: — 
*  Thoughts  respecting  the  true  estimation  of  the  living  forces, 
and  a  critique  of  the  proofs  which  Leibnitz  and  other  mathe- 
maticians have  employed  in  this  controversy,  together  with 
some  preliminary  considerations  which  relate  to  the  power 
of  bodies  generally.' 

The  question  of  the  vis  viva  residing  in  material  bodies 
was  a  great  point  of  dispute  previous  to  the  Newtonian  dis- 
covery of  the  laws  of  gravitation ;  and  although  Kant  was 
well  acquainted  with  the  Newtonian  philosophy,  he  was 
not  yet  out  of  the  trammels  of  the  school  which  based  itself 
on  the  authority  of  Descartes,  Leibnitz,  and  Wolff.  He 
proposes,  therefore,  in  this  /ugendschrift,  to  compare  their 
doctrines  on  the  laws  of  motion,  and  show,  by  an  appeal 
to  nature,  in  what  respect  each  was  right  and  each  wrong. 
Descartes  considered  the  universal  law  of  motion  to  be 
expressed  by  a  direct  ratio  between  the  spaces  and  the 
times;  Leibnitz  by  a  ratio  between  the  spaces  and  the 
squares  of  the  times.  Kant's  object  was  to  show  that  the 
Cartesian  law  was  true  for  certain  cases  (cases,  namely,  of 


uniform  motion),  but  that  the  Leibnitzian  law  was  true  for 
cases  of  accelerated  motion.  The  whole  controversy  has, 
of  course,  no  further  interest  to  us,  the  question  having  long 
been  merged  into  and  solved  by  the  general  laws  of  dyna- 
mics. Our  principal  object  in  referring  to  it  is  to  point 
out  the  glimpses  it  gives  us  into  the  critical  power  and 
mental  independence  of  Kant  in  this  early  period  of  his 
life.  The  preface  of  this  little  treatise  contains  a  kind  of 
apology  for  impugning  the  judgment  of  men  so  eminent  as 
Descartes  and  Leibnitz;  and  amongst  other  striking  re- 
marks, he  utters  the  following  sentiments  as  those  which  he 
had  adopted  for  the  guidance  of  his  own  mind  in  the  pur- 
suit of  truth.  *  I  am  of  opinion,'  he  writes,  '  that  it  is,  on 
occasions,  by  no  means  useless  to  place  a  certain  noble 
confidence  in  our  own  powers.  A  trust  of  this  kind  vitalizes 
all  our  eff'orts,  and  imparts  a  kind  of  stimulus  which  is  greatly 
conducive  to  the  free  investigation  of  truth.  Here,  then, 
I  take  my  stand.  I  have  already  marked  out  the  path 
which  I  desire  to  keep.  I  shall  henceforth  enter  upon  this 
course,  and  nothing  shall  hinder  me  from  continuing  in  it.' 
Such  language  would  ordinarily  savour  of  presumption 
in  a  young  student  of  twenty-two  years  of  age ;  but  such 
was  far  from  being  the  case  with  Kant.  He  was  singularly 
modest  in  his  pretensions,  and,  although  conscious  of  his 
own  mental  powers,  yet  never  presumed  upon  them  beyond 
what  he  could  justify  by  the  results  of  patient  investigation 
and  penetrating  insight  His  was  a  rare  spirit,  formed  by 
nature  to  worship  truth  more  than  authority, — one,  too, 
which  combined  with  this  the  unbending  power  of  will  to 
follow  out  his  purpose  through  a  lifetime,  without  the  least 
swerving  to  the  right  hand  or  to  the  left. 

III. 

We  have  before  shown  that  Kant  had  enrolled  himself  in 
the  theological  faculty.  In  pursuance  of  his  plan  of  enter- 
ing the  church,  he  had  studied  theological  science  with 
commendable  diligence,  and  had  occasionally  gone  out 
into  the  country  to  exercise  his  powers  as  a  preacher.  But 
now  that  he  had  finished  his  course  of  study,  and  could  no 
longer  calculate  upon  his  uncle's  timely  support,  he  naturally 


56 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


hnmamiel  Kant. 


57 


ft! 


looked  around  to  find  some  sphere  of  honourable  industry 
by  which  he  could  obtain  a  decent  livelihood.  A  vacancy 
occurring  in  the  Cathedral  School,  he  became  a  candidate 
for  it,  but  was  unsuccessful.  A  person  considerably  inferior 
to  himself  appears  to  have  superseded  him.  From  this 
time,  Kant  gave  up  all  idea  of  pursuing  the  clerical  profes- 
sion ;  he  accepted  a  situation  as  private  tutor,  some  few 
miles  from  Konigsberg  in  the  country,  and  quietly  devoted 
all  his  leisure  time  to  uninterrupted  study. 

It  may  be  interesting  for  us  to  inquire  what  were  the 
principal  studies  to  which  Kant  devoted  his  mind  during 
these  nine  years  of  rural  quietude  and  repose.  His  regular 
duties  as  a  tutor  must,  of  course,  have  absorbed  some  hours 
of  every  day,  and  have  kept  the  Hterary  side  of  his  character 
in  full  activity.  But  his  private  studies  were  evidently 
dominated  by  the  purpose  he  ever  kept  in  mind,  of  return- 
ing to  Konigsberg  and  obtaining  a  professor's  chair  in  the 
University.  This  purpose,  combined  with  his  own  natural 
tastes,  led  him,  evidently,  to  the  deeper  study  of  mathematics 
and  physics.  Newton  was  evidently  the  master  mind  under 
which  he  worked ;  and  he  must  have  become,  during  this 
period  of  his  life,  thoroughly  acquainted  with  his  entire 
philosophy  of  the  heavens. 

An  opportunity  occurred  during  the  last  year  of  his  tutor- 
ship to  make  some  practical  use  of  these  Newtonian  studies. 
The  Academy  of  Sciences  at  Berlin  gave  out  in  the  year 
1754,  as  the  subject  of  a  prize  essay,  the  question,  ^Whether 
the  earth,  in  its  rotation  round  its  axis,  has  suffered  any 
change  from  the  period  of  its  origin,  and,  if  so,  what  is  the 
cause,  and  how  may  we  be  certified  of  it  ? '  To  this  question 
Kant  sent  in  a  reply,  which  was  afterwards  printed ;  and 
in  the  same  year  he  added  another  memoir  on  the  question, 
*  Whether  the  earth  is  growing  old  ?  and  whether  it  contains 
in  itself  the  germ  of  its  own  final  destruction?'  In  his 
treatment  of  both  these  subjects,  Kant  shows  clearly  the 
cautious  and  critical  tendency  of  his  own  intellect.  His 
object  is  not  so  much  to  prove  either  one  side  of  the  ques- 
tion or  the  other,  but  to  give  a  critique  on  the  nature  of  the 
evidences  on  which  either  alternative  can  be  affirmed  or 
denied.     The  conclusion  he  comes  to  is,  that  there  is  no 


evidence  presented  in  the  case  which  can  possibly  lead  to  a 
sure  decision— in  other  words,  that  the  questions  are  not 
answerable.  Conjectures  there  may  be,  and  even  probabili- 
ties ;  but  if  we  require  proof  leading  to  certitude,  for  this 
there  are  no  sufficient  materials  at  hand.  We  see  here  at 
work  that  same  characteristic  feature  of  thought  which 
accompanied  Kant  through  his  whole  life.  His  mind  did 
not  permit  him  to  labour  at  the  solution  of  any  problem 
until  the  terms  of  the  problem  were  well  defined,  the  possible 
evidences  estimated,  and  the  grounds  on  which  an  intelligible 
conclusion  could  be  come  to  thoroughly  laid  bare.  His 
intellect  was  from  the  first  of  the  critical  order,  wholly 
opposed  to  dogmatism  in  any  direction,  and  utterly  dissatis- 
fied with  any  opinion,  the  foundations  of  which  were  not 
deeply  and  immoveably  planted  on  the  primary  laws  of 
human  conviction. 

And  yet,  wherever  the  possibility  of  a  thorough  investi- 
gation existed,  Kant  was  bold  to  follow  it  out,  however  far 
the  results  might  be  from  the  then  accepted  conclusions 
of  science  or  philosophy.  This  is  seen  in  a  larger  work, 
which  he  published  in  the  next  year  (i755)>  entitled,  A 
Universal  Natural  History  and  Theory  of  the  Heavens  ;  or, 
an  Attempt  to  show  the  Constitution  and  Mechanical  Origin 
of  the  Universe,  according  to  the  Principles  of  Newton.  The 
laws  by  which  the  planets  move  in  their  orbits  had  been 
evolved  through  the  researches  of  Copernicus,  of  Kepler, 
and  of  Newton  ;  but  none  of  these  had  entered  scientifically 
upon  the  further  question  how  the  universe  came  into 
existence.  Newton,  when  he  had  carried  his  investigations 
to  their  farthest  limit,  and  laid  open  to  the  human  intellect 
the  whole  of  the  structure  and  movements  of  the  solar 
system,  stood  still  to  adore.  He  seemed  to  have  reached 
that  point  where  the  divine  power  became  manifest ;  nay, 
he  reverently  pointed  to  the  fact  that  it  was  possible  to 
calculate  the  exact  momentum  which  the  divine  arm  had 
first  given  to  bring  all  the  planets  into  play  within  their 
several  courses.  But  Kant  saw  plainly  that  if  the  mathe- 
matical and  dynamical  laws  of  the  universe  were  good  to 
explain  the  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  they  might  be 
good  for  much  more.     The  same  laws  which  guide  their 


58 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


hnmanuel  Ka7it. 


59 


m 


mcrvements  might  also  have  presided  at  their  origin.  In  a 
word,  given  t\\Q  fact  of  matter  to  start  with,  the  sun,  moon, 
and  stars,  he  saw,  may  have  been  brought  into  existence 
by  the  application  of  those  very  same  laws  which  govern 
and  sustain  them  to  the  present  day. 

This  treatise  on  the  heavens  was  written  six  years  before 
De  Lambert  wrote  his  Lettres  Cosmologiques  sur  la  Con- 
stitution de  tunivers,  in  which  very  similar  views  were 
propounded.  Kant,  so  far  from  feeling  annoyed  that  so 
little  regard  was  paid  to  his  own  original  efforts,  whilst  the 
work  of  De  Lambert  was  received  with  wonder  and  admira- 
tion, testified  nothing  but  the  most  lively  joy  that  the  great 
thoughts  in  which  he  had  delighted,  and  the  theories  over 
which  his  own  imagination  had  silently  roved,  should  now 
be  confirmed  by  the  first  astronomer  of  the  age  (see  his 
correspondence  with  De  Lambert).  Kant  was  far,  however, 
from  sharing  the  atheistical  tendencies  of  his  French  con- 
temporary. He  united  too  much  reflective  power  with 
moral  aspiration  to  content  himself  with  regarding  nature 
as  a  vast  machine,  with  no  infinite  mind  or  beneficial 
purpose  behind  it.  The  remarks  with  which  he  anticipated 
the  objections  of  those  shallow  enthusiasts  who  look  upon 
secondary  causes  as  something  savouring  of  irreligion,  may 
be  profitably  repeated  even  to  the  present  day. 

*No  one,'  says  Kant,  *can  contemplate  the  universe 
without  observing  the  admirable  order  in  its  structure,  and 
the  surest  proofs  of  the  hand  of  God  in  the  perfection  of 
its  relations.  Reason,  when  it  has  stood  in  admiration  at 
so  much  beauty  and  so  great  excellence,  becomes  righteously 
indignant  at  the  rash  folly  that  can  allow  itself  to  ascribe 
all  this  to  a  happy  chance.  The  highest  wisdom  must  have 
made  the  plan,  and  an  infinite  power  executed  it,  otherwise 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  find  so  many  consentane- 
ous purposes  in  the  whole  structure.  The  question  for  us, 
however,  to  decide  is,  Whether  the  plan  of  the  conduct  of 
the  universe  has  been  laid  by  the  Supreme  Intellect  in  the 
essential  principles  of  eternal  nature,  and  planted  in  the 
essential  laws  of  motion,  so  as  to  develope  itself  uncon- 
strainedly  in  a  manner  consonant  with  the  most  perfect 
order  ?  or  whether  the  general  properties  of  the  elements 


of  the  universe  have  a  total  incapacity  of  agreement,  and 
no  tendency  whatever  towards  a  mutual  connection,  but 
require,  on  the  contrary,  absolutely  a  foreign  hand  to  bring 
about  that  restriction  and  combination  of  the  parts  which 
exhibit  all  this  perfection  and  beauty  ?  An  almost  universal 
prejudice  has  prepossessed  philosophers  against  the  capacity 
of  nature  to  bring  about  any  great  result  by  means  of  uni- 
versal laws,  just  as  if  it  pronounces  the  government  of  the 
world  godless  when  we  seek  for  the  original  forms  of  things 
in  the  powers  of  nature,  and  as  if  this  power  were  a  principle 
wholly  independent  of  divinity — a  blind,  eternal  fate  ! ' 

Such,  then,  were  some  of  the  studies  in  which  Kant 
delighted  during  the  period  of  his  country  retirement. 

The  nine  years  which  he  spent  as  private  tutor  present 
one  uniform  aspect  of  patient  industry  and  mental  effort  in 
the  work  of  self-education.  He  followed  the  even  tenor  of 
his  way,  undisturbed  by  the  dreams  of  ambition,  satisfied 
that  he  had  the  inward  power  and  resolution  to  carry  out 
that  course  of  intellectual  research  on  which  he  had  entered, 
and  which  he  openly  declared  nothing  should  hinder  him 
from  pursuing. 

Kant  used  in  after  life  to  make  merry  over  his  former 
doings  as  a  tutor  to  young  children,  and  often  declared  his 
opinion  that  he  must  have  made  the  very  worst  elementary 
teacher  in  the  world.  Of  his  own  studies,  however,  during 
this  period  of  his  life,  he  always  spoke  with  the  greatest 
satisfaction.  Here  it  was,  whilst  undisturbed  by  society, 
careless  of  the  future,  surrounded  by  all  the  influences 
which  to  such  a  mind  solitude  and  nature  must  ever  present, 
that  he  laid  the  solid  foundation  for  that  world-wide  emi- 
nence and  renown  to  which  he  afterwards  attained. 

IV. 

In  the  year  1755  Kant  completed  his  engagements  as  a 
private  tutor.  The  time,  he  considered,  had  now  arrived 
for  realizing  the  fixed  purpose  of  his  life — that  of  becoming 
a  professor  in  the  University  of  his  native  town.  It  may  be 
as  well  to  state,  for  the  information  of  those  who  may  be 
unacquainted  with  the  constitution  of  the  German  Univer- 
sities, that  a  successful  student  in   any  department,  who 


^; 


6o 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


ImmaJiuel  Kant, 


6r 


intends  to  devote  himself  to  the  higher  teaching,  obtains 
permission  to  open  a  class  within  the  precincts  of  the 
University,  for  which  he  is  paid  simply  by  the  very  mode- 
rate fees  of  the  students  who  choose  to  attend  it.  Should 
his  lectures  gain  approval,  and  his  abilities  be  well  tested, 
he  looks  forward  to  a  regular  appointment  as  Professor 
Extraordinarius,  with  a  fixed  salary  as  well,  and  then  works 
his  way  up  to  the  highest  positions  according  to  his  capacity 
as  a  scholar  and  a  teacher. 

The  first  thing  to  be  accomplished  by  Kant  on  his  return 
to  Konigsberg,  was  to  get  the  legal  qualification  necessary 
for  holding  a  University  professorship  of  the  first  kind. 
With  this  view  he  took  his  degree  on  the  12th  of  June 
1755.  According  to  the  usual  method  adopted  and  still 
followed  in  the  German  Universities,  Kant  composed  a 
Latin  thesis,  and  discussed  it  in  the  common  hall  before 
the  professors,  who  were  appointed  at  once  to  decide  upon 
and  testify  to  his  merits  as  a  doctor  of  philosophy.  The 
subject  of  the  thesis  was  '  Heat,  and  its  Place  in  the  Economy 
of  Nature.'  On  the  27th  of  September  in  the  same  year,  he 
delivered  and  defended  a  second  thesis,  entitled,  '  Principi- 
orum  primorum  cognitionis  metaphysiccB  nova  dilucidatio.^  By 
an  order  from  the  Minister  of  Instruction,  dated  1749,  it 
had  been  decided  that  no  one  could  be  appointed  Professor 
Extraordinarius  who  had  not  publicly  defended  three  several 
theses.  To  fulfil  this  condition,  Kant  wrote  a  third  trea- 
tise on  the  subject  of  *  Monodology '  (a  point  then  much 
mooted  amongst  the  adherents  of  the  Leibnitzian  philo- 
sophy), which  he  defended  in  April  1756  ;  and  after  this  he 
at  once  sent  in  his  application  as  a  candidate  for  the  next 
professorship  of  mathematics  and  philosophy. 

Of  these  three  essays,  the  first  and  the  third  are  hardly 
more  than  college  exercises,  and  both  relate  to  matters  now 
of  comparatively  little  interest  respecting  the  physical  con- 
stitution of  bodies.  The  progress  of  chemical  science  has 
rendered  the  mere  speculative  treatment  of  molecular 
questions  wholly  unpopular,  if  not  useless ;  and  no  one 
would  now  care  to  build  up  a  superstructure  of  philosophical 
ideas  based  upon  either  the  geometric  or  the  dynamical 
definition  of  matter.     With  regard,  however,  to  the  other 


treatise  to  which  we  referred,— I  mean  the  *  Nova  dilucidatio  ; 
or.  The  Exposition  of  the  First  Principles  of  Metaphysical 
Knowledge,' — this  is  interesting  as  containing  Kant's  first 
utterances  on  any  question  of  a  purely  metaphysical  nature. 
We  must  keep  in  mind  that  Kant  writes  at  present  entirely 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  Leibnitzian- Wolfian  philosophy. 
In  this  school  he  had  been  brought  up,  on  these  principles 
his  whole  education  had  been  conducted,  and  there  was 
nothing,  as  yet,  to  interfere  with  his  respect  for  these  tradi- 
tional ideas,  except  his  own  penetrating  power  of  thought 
within,  and  the  influence  of  the  Newtonian  physics  without. 

Wolff  had  based  all  human  knowledge  upon  three  funda- 
mental formulas,  which  he  termed  respectively  the  principle 
of  identity,  the  principle  of  contradiction,  and  the  principle 
of  sufficient  reason— that  is,  we  may  affirm  that  B  is  iden- 
tical with  A ;  or  we  may  affirm  that  B  is  different  from  or 
contradictory  to  A ;  or  we  may  affirm  that  B  follows 
necessarily  from  A  as  the  cause  or  sufficient  reason  of  its 
existence.  All  our  rational  knowledge,  according  to  Wolff, 
is  reducible  to  one  of  these  three  forms.  In  other  words, 
every  statement  must  be  an  affirmation  of  the  identity  of 
one  thing  with  another,  or  a  contradiction  of  such  identity, 
or  a  declaration  that  one  thing  is  the  cause  or  effect  of 
another.  This  is  the  question  which  Kant  now  proposes 
to  investigate  anew.  On  the  first  two  of  Wolff's  fundamental 
principles  he  has  not  much  to  remark.  He  merely  rebuts 
the  attempt  which  had  occasionally  been  made  to  reduce 
them  to  one  fundamental  category,  and  shows  that  the 
affirmation  of  identity  and  of  difference  are  necessarily  two 
different  mental  processes.  It  is  when  he  comes  to  the 
law  of  sufficient  reason  or  causality  that  he  begins  to  strike 
oft"  some  new  metaphysical  sparks,  hardly  consistent  with 
the  orthodox  Wolfian  doctrine. 

Every  effect  must  have  a  cause.  This  was  a  principle 
maintained  throughout  the  Wolfian  school  with  an  unlimited 
application.  But  if  every  effect  must  have  a  cause  which 
actually  determines  it,  then  every  human  action  must  have 
a  determining  cause ;  and  if  every  human  action  be  deter- 
mined, then  none  can  be  regarded  as  unconstrained  and 
free.     The  doctrine  of  necessity  thus  pervaded  the  whole 


62 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Inmiantul  Kant, 


63 


Mi 

I 


of  the  Leibnitzian  school,  as  it  had  pervaded  the  philosophy 
of  Leibnitz  himself.  This  doctrine  of  sufficient  reason,  as 
applied  to  human  actions,  had  been  called  in  question 
by  Crusius,  who  attempted  to  show  that,  by  cutting  at  the 
root  of  human  freedom,  it  destroyed  the  entire  moral  cha- 
racter of  human  life,  and  rendered  responsibility  impossible. 
Kant's  object  in  the  treatise  just  referred  to,  was  to  show 
that  there  is  a  middle  path  which  avoids  the  difficulties  on 
both  sides.  With  regard  to  the  doctrine  of  sufficient 
reason,  he  still  felt  himself  constrained  to  uphold  the  prin- 
ciple as  one  of  universal  application,  viz.  that  every  effect 
must  have  a  cause,  and  conversely,  that  every  fact  must 
have  flowed  out  of  some  other  fact  which  preceded  it.  But 
then  he  attempts  to  contravene  the  moral  results  which 
Crusius  deduced  by  removing  the  cause  from  the  outer  to 
the  inner  world.  *  True,'  he  says,  '  our  volitions  must  have 
a  cause  ;  but  where  is  it?  It  is  not  any  mere  external  fact. 
That  which  determines  our  voluntary  actions  are  habits, 
tendencies,  emotions,  and  reasonings.  But  whatever  is 
determined  by  the  mind  itself  in  its  various  phases  and 
affections,  is  fundamentally  free  and  unconstrained.  Hence 
both  sides  of  the  alternative  may  be  true ;  we  may  have 
our  actions  determined  on  the  one  side,  and  yet  those 
actions  may  be  free  on  the  other.'  Kant  is  here  evidently 
struggling  against  his  chains ;  he  is  still  within  the  region 
of  philosophical  necessity,  much  in  the  form  in  which  it 
was  left  a  legacy  to  his  age  by  Leibnitz,  but  yet  manfully 
exercising  his  critical  proclivities  to  find  a  passage  into  some 
freer  and  loftier  moral  region. 

Another  important  point  in  which  Kant  attempts  some 
correction  of  the  philosophic  dogma  of  sufficient  reason  in 
which  he  had  been  educated,  is  his  maintaining  and  con- 
firming the  distinction  which  he  had  already  drawn  between 
arguing  from  a  sufficient  reason  antecedent^  or  one  subsequent 
to  the  event.  All  causes  are  in  nature  chronologically 
antecedent  to  their  eff"ects ;  but  it  sometimes  happens  that 
the  ground  on  which  we  judge  an  affirmation  to  be  true  is 
subsequent  to  it.  If  I  see  a  flash  of  forked  lightning,  I 
judge  that  thunder  will  follow.  The  one  event  is  the  real 
ground  of  the  other.     But  if  I  hear  the  thunder  first,  I 


judge  with  equal  certainty  that  the  lightning  has  preceded 
it.  The  one  is  the  ratio  detertninans,  the  other  the  ratio 
cognoscendi.  Kant  did  not,  indeed,  carry  out  this  distinction 
to  any  of  its  further  consequences ;  but  we  may  now  note 
it  as  the  first  symptom  of  that  train  of  analysis  which  after- 
wards led  to  his  well-known  doctrine  of  analytic  and  syn- 
thetic judgments.  There  is  one  use,  however,  which  he 
makes  of  it,  and  that  is  to  confute  the  ontological  proof 
of  the  existence  of  God  as  propounded  by  Descartes,  and 
relied  on  by  so  many  of  his  followers — namely,  that  because 
the  idea  of  a  God  is  the  idea  of  an  all-perfect  being, 
therefore  He  must  be  thought  of  as  existing^  otherwise  one 
perfection,  at  least,  would  be  wanting.  This  procedure 
Kant  shows  to  be  a  complete  confusion  of  the  real  and 
ideal  ground  of  the  divine  existence.  It  gives  us  a  ratio 
cognoscendi,  but  then  treats  it  as  though  it  were  ratio  essendi. 
The  only  ontological  proof  he  admits  at  this  stage  of  his 
philosophical  career,  lies  in  the  power  we  possess  of  rising 
from  the  idea  of  the  contingent  to  that  of  the  necessary  and 
absolute  existence,  the  latter  idea  being  logically  involved 
in  the  former.  But  these  topics  will  come  under  review 
more  fully  at  a  later  stage  of  our  inquiry. 

No  sooner  had  Kant  fulfilled  all  the  conditions  than  he 
commenced  his  career  as  a  Privat-docent,  by  announcing 
classes  to  be  held  in  his  own  rooms.  The  subjects  he 
selected  were  mathematics,  physics,  logic,  and  metaphysics. 
Borrowski,  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  an  invaluable  little 
biography,  most  of  which  Kant  corrected  with  his  own 
hand  before  his  death,  was  present  at  the  very  first  lecture, 
and  gives  us  so  interesting  an  account  of  it  that  it  is  best 
to  quote  the  passage  entire : — 

*I  was  present  as  an  auditor  in  the  year  1755  ^^  Kant's  first 
lecture.  He  was  then  living  in  the  house  of  Professor 
Kypke,  and  had  there  a  large  auditorium,  which,  together 
with  the  passage  and  the  stairs,  was  filled  with  an  almost 
incredible  number  of  students.  This  appeared  to  embarrass 
Kant  greatly.  Unaccustomed  as  he  was  to  the  whole  thing, 
he  lost  almost  his  whole  confidence,  spoke  lower  than  usual, 
and  corrected  himself  frequently.  ...  In  the  next  lecture 
it  was  quite  different.     His  manner,  as  it  always  remained 


4 


U     •   '-» 


64 


PJiilosophical  Fi'agmeJits, 


Immamiel  Ka7it, 


65 


afterwards,  was  not  only  thoroughly  to  the  purpose,  but 
free  and  agreeable.  The  compendium  which  he  used  as 
the  basis,  he  never  followed  slavishly,  and  only  so  far  as 
to  follow  the  author's  order  in  adding  his  own  remarks.  The 
falness  of  his  knowledge  often  led  him  into  digressions  from 
the  main  topic,  which  were  always  highly  interesting.' 

In  his  lectures,  Kant  was  far  from  confinmg  himself  to 
the  abstract  sciences.  He  took  the  greatest  delight  in  every- 
thing  relating  to  the  natural  history  of  mankind  and  of  the 
globe  on  which  we  live.  It  was  just  at  this  time  that  the 
great  earthquake  occurred  at  Lisbon,  which  catastrophe, 
accompanied  as  it  was  by  many  minor  shocks  in  almost 
every  part  of  Europe,  had  given  rise  to  superstitious  fears 
amongst  the  ignorant,  and  even  doubts  as  to  the  stability 
of  the  earth  itself.  Kant  undertook  to  expound  the  whole 
theory  of  earthquakes  in  a  series  of  articles  published  weekly, 
in  which  he  gave  a  resume  of  all  that  was  then  known  of 
them,  and  showed  that  such  upheavings  were  part  of  the 
whole  system  of  the  world ;  and  that,  so  far  from  endanger- 
ing the  welfare  of  mankind,  they  answer  a  wise  and  bene- 
ficent purpose  in  the  economy  of  nature.  The  whole  of 
his  exposition  is  quite  in  the  spirit  of  our  modern  science, 
with  all  the  light  which  geology  has  since  shed  upon  it. 

About  the  year  1760,  Kant  began  to  extend  the  range 
of  his  teaching  much  beyond  the  narrow  circle  of  the  ab- 
stract sciences  above  alluded  to.  He  announced,  first  of 
all,  courses  of  lectures  on  anthropology  and  physical  geo- 
graphy. For  these  subjects,  as  bearing  upon  the  central 
point  of  his  thoughts,— namely,  human  nature,— Kant  had 
an  enthusiasm  quite  equal  to  that  which  he  bore  to  meta- 
physical investigation.  Though  he  never  travelled,  and 
never  went  above  a  few  miles  from  his  birthplace  during 
his  whole  life,  yet  his  acquaintance  with  the  world  at  large, 
and  especially  with  man  in  all  his  numerous  varieties,  was 
extensive  and  minute.  He  devoured  books  of  travel,  de- 
scriptions of  foreign  countries,  information  of  all  kinds  about 
every  region  of  the  globe,  until  his  knowledge  was  as  minute 
and  exact  as  it  could  be,  short  of  a  personal  acquaint- 
ance. He  is  said,  in  one  of  his  conversations,  to  have 
given  so  exact  a  description  of  Westminster  Bridge  (then 


newly  erected),  that  an  Englishman  who'was  present  took 
him  for  an  architect  who  had  spent  some  years  in  London. 
There  was  not  a  country  on  the  face  of  the  globe,  not  a 
tribe  of  men  then  known,  respecting  whom  he  did  not 
possess  the  most  detailed  knowledge;  and  all  this  know- 
ledge was  pressed  into  service  in  his  general  estimate  of 
human  nature.  His  lectures  on  these  subjects  always  drew 
a  large  number  of  hearers,  and  that  not  only  students,  but 
men  of  riper  years,  military  men,  and  civilians;  and,  it  is 
well  known,  the  notes  of  his  lectures  were  sent  far  and  wide 
for  the  benefit  of  some  who  wished  to  profit  by  them  at  a 
distance.  The  Prussian  minister.  Von  Zeidlitz,  was  a  great 
admirer  of  Kant,  and  appreciated  his  knowledge  of  men 
and-  things  highly ;  and  to  him  it  was  partly  owing  that  the 
Kantian  ideas  found  favour  in  high  places,  and  became 
expanded  throughout  the  German  Universities  much  earlier, 
in  all  probability,  than  they  would  otherwise  have  been. 
He  writes  to  the  philosopher  from  Berlin  as  follows : 

*  I  am  now  hearing  a  course  of  lectures  on  physical  geo- 
graphy by  you,  my  dear  Professor  Kant,  and  the  least  I  can 
do  is  to  return  you  my  thanks  for  them.  However  strange 
it  may  appear,  as  I  am  some  four  hundred  miles  distant  Irom 
you,  I  must  candidly  admit  that  I  am  in  the  position  of 
a  student,  who  is  sitting  a  good  long  distance  from  the 
professor's  chair,  or  who  is  not  yet  accustomed  to  his 
pronunciation ;  for  the  manuscript  which  I  am  now  read- 
ing is  rather  indistinct,  and  somewhat  incorrectly  written. 
Nevertheless,  from  what  I  can  decipher,  my  warmest  desire 
is  excited  to  know  the  rest  To  press  upon  you  the  idea 
of  printing  your  lectures  would  very  likely  be  unpleasant, 
but  I  fancy  you  would  not  deny  me  the  request  to  furnish 
me  with  a  more  careful  copy ;  and  if  you  cannot  do  this, 
even  with  the  solemn  assurance  that  the  manuscript  shall 
never  go  out  of  my  hands,  still  this  letter  will  at  any  rate 
serve  to  assure  you  that  I  value  you  and  your  productions 
in  the  highest  degree.' 

During  the  first  fifteen  years  of  Kant's  professorial  life 
his  income  was  small,  and  his  mode  of  life  simple  in  the 
highest  degree.     He   occupied  a  couple   of  rooms,  very 
plainly  furnished,  in  the  house  of  one  or  other  of  his  friends 

E 


'i  % 


66 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


or  colleagues,  and  dined  (as  is  the  custom  amongst  German 
students)  at  one  of  the  restaurants  of  the  town.  He  retired 
to  rest  punctually  at  ten  o'clock,  and  rose  equally  punctually 
at  five  o'clock  every  morning.  His  mode  of  life  during  the 
day  was  equally  regular.  He  lectured  so  many  hours  at 
the  University,  beginning  usually  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  finishing  his  last  lecture  by  mid-day.  He 
then  gave  himself  up  to  thorough  relaxation  and  social 
intercourse  till  towards  evening,  when  he  returned  home 
and  worked  steadily  till  ten  o'clock. 

Although  Kant's  mode  of  life  was  simple  to  a  degree, 
yet  there  was  nothing  common  or  vulgar  in  his  habits, 
dress,  or  bearing.  His  residence  for  some  years  as  tutor 
in  the  house  of  a  noble  family  had  habituated  him  to  the 
refinements  of  society.  He  dressed  himself  with  the  utmost 
neatness  and  care ;  his  manners  were  easy  and  courteous ; 
his  conversation  genial,  witty,  and  sometimes,  when  excited 
to  effort,  even  brilliant. 

He  had  a  great  objection  to  dining  alone,  but  always 
required  the  mid-day  meal  to  be  enlivened  by  a  flow  of 
social  intercourse  of  a  light  and  exhilarating  character. 
During  the  period  that  he  lectured  as  a  Privat-docent,  he 
sought  this  kind  of  intercourse  at  the  public  table ;  after- 
wards, when  his  income  increased  and  he  possessed  a  house 
of  his  own,  he  always  invited,  without  exception,  from  two 
to  six  of  his  friends  to  dine  with  him. 

The  two  most  intimate  friends  he  possessed  in  the  earlier 
part  of  his  professorial  life  were  two  Englishmen,  named 
Green  and  Motherby,  the  former  of  whom  Kant  regarded 
as  a  man  of  such  natural  power  of  intelligence  that  he  never 
committed  anything  to  the  press,  however  small,  without 
reciting  it  over  to  Green,  to  get  an  unbiassed  and  unprofes- 
sional judgment  upon  it.  One  of  Kant's  old  friends  and 
table  companions,  Herr  Jachmann,  has  given  Us  such  an 
amusing  account  of  the  way  in  which  Kant  spent  his  after- 
noon in  company  with  these  English  friends,  that  I  am 
tempted  to  quote  the  passage  complete  : 

'  In  the  society  of  this  intelligent,  noble-minded,  though 
singular  man,  Kant  found  so  much  food  for  his  mind  and 
heart  that  he  became  his  daily  companion,  and  spent  several 


Irnmanuel  Kant, 


67 


hours  every  day  in  his  society.  Kant  went  to  him  every 
afternoon,  and  found  Green  sleeping  in  his  arm-chair ;  but 
instead  of  waking  him  up,  he  took  another  chair  and  went 
to  sleep  too ;  next  came  in  the  bank  director  Ruffman,  and 
did  the  same,  until  at  length  Motherby  stepped  into  the 
room  at  a  given  time  and  woke  up  the  company,  which  then 
abandoned  itself  to  the  most  interesting  conversation  till 
seven  o'clock.  The  company  broke  up  so  punctually  at 
seven  that  I  have  often  heard  those  who  lived  in  the  street 
say,  **  It  can't  be  seven  o'clock  yet,  because  Professor  Kant 
has  not  gone  by."' 

This  friendly  intercourse  existed  during  the  middle 
portion  of  Kant's  career,  and  exercised  without  doubt  a 
decided  influence  on  his  character.  Green's  death  altered 
Kant's  mode  of  life  so  greatly,  that  he  never  afterwards 
went  into  evening  society,  or  even  supped  at  all.  It  seemed 
as  though  this  hour,  which  had  been  hallowed  by  the  most 
intimate  friendship,  ought  to  be  spent  to  the  end  of  his  life 
in  silent  solitude  as  an  offering  to  his  departed  friend. 

V. 

Kant  began  his  career  as  lecturer  in  1 755.  All  his  efforts 
to  gain  a  higher  position  were  unavailing,  although  his 
reputation  was  steadily  on  the  increase.  The  only  promo- 
tion he  received,  if  such  it  can  be  called,  was  the  place  of 
under-librarian,  a  place  which  brought  him  in  62  thalers,  or 
about  ^^9  per  annum  ;  but  after  fifteen  years'  patient  work 
he  was  at  last  rewarded  by  being  made  ordinary  professor  of 
logic  and  philosophy  at  the  University.  It  is  time  now, 
therefore,  that  we  should  take  a  glance  at  his  intellectual 
life  during  these  last  fifteen  years,  and  see  what  progress  he 
was  making  in  the  great  work  of  the  reformation  of  the 
philosophy  of  his  country. 

The  Wolfian  philosophy,  which  then  shared  the  rule  over 
the  speculative  intellect  of  the  country  with  the  Middle  Age 
Scholasticism,  was  based  equally  with  the  latter,  as  we 
before  showed,  entirely  upon  the  process  of  logical  analysis. 
It  imagined  that  the  syllogism  was  a  great  instrument  for 
the  development  of  philosophical  truth,  and  that  human 
knowledge  could  shape  itself  into  a  complete  body  of  science 


68 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


"jtt 


Immanuel  Kant, 


69 


by  proceeding  victoriously  from  one  definition  to  another, 
and  from  one  logical  conclusion  to  another,  until  the  whole 
superstructure  was  completed.      Kant  accordmgly  begms 
his  campaign  against  the  metaphysics  of  his  day  by  aiming 
a  blow  at  the  value  and  accuracy  of  the  school  logic.     In 
1762  he  published  his  tractate  on  the  False  Subtlety  of  the 
Four  Syllogistic  Figures,  in  which  he  rejects  all  the  modes 
of  argumentation  allowed  by  the  three  latter  figures  as  use- 
less and  deceptive,  and  then  shows  that  the  form  of  argu- 
mentation set  forth   in   the  first  figure,  though   perfectly 
legitimate  and  real,  is  nothing  better   than  an  expanded 
judgment.      Hence,  as  all  judgment   logically  considered 
simply  consists  in  analyzing  an  idea,  and  exhibiting  the 
various  attributes,  one  after  the  other,  contained  in  it,  it 
follows  that  we  can  never  arrive  at  any  truth  m  the  way  of 
a  logical  conclusion  which  was  not  already  implicitly  con- 
tained in  the  premises.    The  pretension  that  we  can  advance 
by  means  of  a  syllogistic  conclusion  to  any  mw  truth  is  the 
false  subtlety  (Jalsche  Spitzfindigkeit)  which  it  was  Kant  s 
object  to  refute  and  condemn. 

But  now  he  makes  another  step  in  advance.  The  farther 
he  proceeds,  the  more  dissatisfied  he  becomes  with  the 
Wolfian  metaphysics  and  the  commonplace  philosophy 
that  pretended  to  solve  all  difficulties  by  the  short  and 
easy  method  of  logical  analysis.  Moreover,  his  eye  is 
wandering  throughout  Europe,  and  noting  all  the  move- 
ments of  the  human  intellect  which  are  springing  up  on  all 
hands.  He  has  been  attracted  by  J.  J.  Rousseau,  and  is 
so  captivated  by  his  Emile  that  he  sits  up  the  whole  night 
to  read  it.  Altogether,  he  wants  something  quite  different 
from  the  school  logic  and  the  Wolfian  philosophy.  Amongst 
other  places  his  eye  is  directed  to  Scotland,  the  home  of 
his  fathers,  and  there  it  meets  with  the  most  startling 
phenomenon  of  the  middle  of  the  last   century,  namely 

David  Hume.  ^     t,     1         .u 

Hamann,  the  Wizard  of  the  North,  as  far  back  as  the 
year  1759,  had  directed  Kant's  attention  to  Hume;  and 
Herder,  who  visited  Konigsberg  in  1762,  and  attended 
some  of  Kant's  lectures,  says  that  he  was  then  engaged  in 
criticising  Hume,  as  well  as  Leibnitz,  Wolff,  Baumgarten, 


and  Crusius.  Th3  outcome  of  all  this  is  a  second  blow 
aimed  at  the  reigning  dogmatism,  which  appears  in  1763 
under  the  title  of  an  Attempt  to  introduce  Negative  Quantities 
into  Philosophy.  Here  he  comes  fairly  to  grapple  with 
Hume's  great  question  of  causality,  and  steps  out  of  the 
logical  ground  of  our  knowledge  of  the  succession  of  events 
into  the  real  ground  of  them.  '  Logical  inference,'  he  says, 
'is  simple  enough;  the  conclusion  is  already  in  the  pre- 
mises. You  have  only  to  analyze  the  concepts,  and  draw 
out  the  attributes  they  contain,  to  form  your  conclusions 
with  perfect  accuracy.  But  the  worst  of  it  is,  when  you 
have  formed  them,  they  tell  you  nothing.  What  I  want  to 
know  is  how  we  can  tell  that  because  one  thing  is  here 
before  me,  therefore  another  thing  wholly  different  will 
follow.  Where  is  the  logic  that  can  do  this?'  Cleariy, 
Kant  has  abandoned  the  Wolfian  school,  and  is  taking  up 
his  abode  amongst  the  abettors  of  a  purely  empirical  philo- 
sophy. He  goes  from  logic  to  experience,  from  reasoning 
to  sensation,  and  then  begins  to  feel  that  he  touches  ground 
and  gains  new  strength. 

But  how  will  this  rejection  of  all  logical  and  d,  prion  ideas 
of  causality  affect  the  proofs  hitherto  relied  on  for  the  exist- 
ence of  a  causa  causarum,  the  being  of  a  God  ?    '  Very  mate- 
rially,' answers  Kant.     The  old  Cartesian  argument,  that 
the  idea  of  a  God  is  the  idea  of  an  all-perfect  being,  and  that 
such  a  being  must  exist,  because  existence  is  contained  in  the 
idea  of  perfection,  Kant  shows  will  not  bear  examinarion  ;  it 
substitutes  a  real  ground  for  an  ideal  one,  and  wholly  fails 
to  substantiate  anything  out  of  the  circle  of  our  own  ideas. 
There  is  only  one  possible  d,  priori  ground  of  proof  for  the 
existence  of  a  God— that,  namely,  arising  from  the  possibility 
of  real  existence  being  hidden  behind  phenomena  generally. 
If  we  deny  any  existence  at  all,  then  we  in  the  same  breath 
deny  any  possibility  of  reality ;  but  the  possibility  of  exist- 
ence is  a  thing  we  can  never  deny.     Hence,  conversely,  we 
may  affirm  that  something  does  exist,  and  if  something  exists, 
it  must  exist  necessarily  ;  it  must  be  simple,  absolute,  eternal, 
unchangeable,  i,e.  it  must  be  God.     We  see  here  on  what  a 
slender  thread  the  proof  of  the  divine  existence,  metaphysi- 
cally speaking,  rests;  and  this  thread  subsequently  snaps 


70 


Philosophical  Fragmenls, 


asunder  with  the  first  stress  laid  upon  it.  But  does  not  the 
failure  of  the  proof  of  the  existence  of  God  carry  with  it 
further  consequences?  Existence,  it  is  shown,  cannot  be 
a  logical  attribute,  i,e.  from  the  idea  of  a  thing  we  can  never 
conclude  that  it  really  exists.  Existence  can  only  be 
evidenced  in  experience,  and  whatever  does  not  exist  in 
experience  is  merely  a  logical  concept  that  carries  no  proof 
of  reality  with  it.  But  if  this  is  true  of  the  existence  of 
God,  is  it  not  equally  true  of  everything  that  transcends  the 
limits  of  sense  ?  Are  we  not  then  confined  as  to  our  know- 
ledge simply  to  the  region  of  the  senses,  and  are  not  meta- 
physical entities  delusions?  Kant  does  not  absolutely 
afiirm  this,  but  shows  from  it  that  the  reigning  metaphysics 
require  to  be  reformed  and  placed  upon  a  new  and  more 
solid  foundation. 

The  treatises  above  referred  to  were  published  in  the 
year  1762.  In  1766  an  opportunity  occurred  of  aiming 
another  blow  at  the  metaphysicians,  which  was  too  tempting 
to  be  neglected.  Just  at  this  time  the  visions  of  Swedenborg 
were  exciting  attention  throughout  Europe,  and  Kant  re- 
ceived letters  from  various  quarters  to  inquire  what  judg- 
ment he,  as  a  cool  philosophical  thinker,  was  inclined  to 
pass  upon  them.  He  therefore  published  an  anonymous 
reply,  entitled.  Dreams  of  a  Ghost-seer,  illustrated  by  Dreams 
of  Metaphysics.  In  this  reply,  he  shows  that  ghost-seeing  is 
a  delusion  of  the  senses.  When  images  of  the  fancy  trans- 
form themselves  into  visions,  they  give  rise  to  delusions  of 
the  senses ;  just  so,  when  dreams  of  the  reason  transform 
themselves  into  the  belief  of  supersensual  realities,  then  we 
see  analogous  delusions  on  the  part  of  the  metaphysicians. 
For  what  is  ontology  but  the  transforming  of  the  mere  possi- 
bility  of  supersensual  things  into  a  reality  ?  The  metaphy- 
sician affirms  a  world  of  simple  immaterial  substance,  which 
he  can  neither  hear,  see,  nor  handle,  to  be  the  basis  of  all 
things ;  upon  this  he  erects  the  whole  substantive  universe, 
which,  in  fact,  has  no  reality  except  in  his  own  brain.  In 
a  word,  metaphysics  are,  and  must  be,  a  dream,  so  long  as 
they  are  not  based  upon  fact  and  experience.  *I  know 
not,'  says  Kant,  *how  certain  philosophers  of  our  time 
can  free  themselves  from  this  charge,— men  who   direct 


Immamcel  Kant. 


71 


their  metaphysical  telescopes  so  diligently  to  these  out-of- 
the-way  regions,  and  manage  to  relate  wonderful  things 
from  them.  Least  of  all  do  I  grudge  them  any  of  their 
discoveries,  only  I  am  afraid  that  a  man  of  good  under- 
standing and  plain  common  sense  might  reply  in  the  same 
manner  as  Tycho  Brahe's  coachman  did  when  his  master 
thought  he  could  drive  at  night  the  shortest  way  by  the 
stars,  "  Good  sir,  you  may  know  all  about  the  heavens,  but 
here  on  earth  you  are  certainly  a  great  fool.'" 

One  would  think  after  this  that  Kant  had  at  length  planted 
his  foot  on  the  principle  of  those  who  in  our  days  are  usually 
termed  positivists,  and  had  thrown  in  his  lot  with  the  philo- 
sophy of  pure  empiricism.     But  no,  this  is  not  his  final 
conclusion.     He  still  thinks  that  metaphysics  form  a  great 
and  important  branch  of  philosophical  research— a  much 
more  difficult   one,  however,  than   it   had  hitherto   been 
supposed  to  be,  and  much  less  ambitious  in  its  aims.     The 
great  purport  of  metaphysics,  he  now  sees,  is  to  institute  an 
inquiry  into  the  true  boundaries  of  human  knowledge,  to 
determine  what  it  is  possible  for  us  to  arrive  at,  and  what 
impossible,  to  search  into  the  nature  and  functions  of  the 
human  faculties  (sensation,  perception,  imagination,  reason), 
and  thus  to  lay  a  broad  foundation  for  certitude,  so  far  as 
our  knowledge  can  reach,  and  for  resignation  to  unavoidable 
ignorance  in  the  case  of  those  things  which  lie  beyond  the 
ken  of  all  human  understanding.     Here,  then,  at  length 
he  comes  upon  the  great  problem  which  it  took  him  many 
years  yet  to  solve— a  problem,  the  complete  solution  of 
which,  however,  he  afterwards  presented  to  the  wodd  in 
the  Criiick  of  Pure  Reason. 

VI. 

In  1770  Kant  reached  the  summit  of  his  ambition,  and 
became  ordinary  professor  of  logic  and  metaphysics  in  the 
University  of  Konigsberg.  On  assuming  this  new  dignity, 
he  wrote,  as  is  the  custom,  an  inaugural  discourse  in  Latin, 
*  De  mundi  sensibilis  atque  intelligibilis  forma  et  principiis.' 
In  this  discourse  he  took  occasion  to  bring  forward  some 
of  the  new  ideas  which  were  working  in  his  brain  respecting 
the  fundamental  principles  of  human  knowledge.     Kant  is 


72 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


Lmnanuel  Kant. 


73 


now  beginning  to  struggle  in  good  earnest  with  the  questions 
here  involved.     Hitherto  his  polemic  had  been  negative 
and  destructive ;  he  had  been  pulling  down  the  supports 
and  buttresses  of  the  reigning  dogmatism,  but  had  as  yet 
put  nothing  in  its   place.     Now   he  begins  the  work   of 
reconstruction,  i.e.  to  show  not  so  much  what  ^^  cannot 
reach  by  our  ordinary  faculties,  as  what  we  can  legitmiately 
arrive  at,  and  how  we  are  to  do  it.     To  know  is  to  judge  ; 
but  to  judge,  in  the  logical  sense  of  the  word,  is  smiply  to 
declare  identity  or  contradiction  between  two  ideas  already 
before  us.     To  arrive  at  any  new  knowledge,  or,  in  other 
words,  to  make  a  synthetic  judgment,  we  must  go  beyond 
the  mere  analysis  of  our  concepts,  and  rely  upon  some 
actual  experience.      But  then,  what   is   experience?    and 
what  are  the  elements  of  which  it  consists?     Experience,  it 
might  be  replied,  is  everything  that  comes  to  us  in  a  direct 
sensation.     True  ;  but  sensations,  when  viewed  alone,  are 
just  so  many  isolated  impressions  which  give  us  no  know- 
ledge whatever.     It  is  only  when  our  sensations  are  connected, 
when  they  reveal  objects  as  existing  in  time  and  space, 
when,  in  a  word,  they  become  sense  perceptions,  that  they 
form  the  elements  of  human  knowledge.     What,  then,  are 
time  and  space  ?     They  are  not  material  things,  they  cannot 
come  to  us  directly  by  the  senses ;  neither  are  they  abstract 
ideas,  evolved  out  of  the  logical  understanding  by  a  process 
of  generalization.     It  is  just  here  that  the  first  great  con- 
clusion of  the  critical  philosophy  comes  to  light.     Time 
and  space   are  perceptions,  but   perceptions  of  the   inner 
sense,  which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  all  our  outward  per- 
ceptions, and  furnish  the  form  which  is  necessary  to  them 
all.     Synthetic  judgments,  a  priori,  are  therefore  a  possi- 
bility, for  they  spring  out  of  the  inner  sense;    and  the 
application  of  them  is  seen  in  the  science  of  mathematics, 
which  is  based  wholly  upon  perceptions  of  time  and  space, 
thus  furnishing  the  matter  on  which  all  the  applied  reason- 
ing subsequently  turns.     These  are  some  of  the  problems 
on  which  the  mind  of  our  philosopher  had  begun  to  work, 
and  which  seemed  to  be  opejiing  a  new  door  into  the 
hitherto  dim  regions  of  metaphysical  speculation. 

From  the  time  that  Kant  assumed  his  due  position  as 


professor,  in  the  year  1770,  the  idea  of  inaugurating  a  new 
metaphysical  philosophy  was  ever  before  his  mind.  Some 
of  the  fundamental  principles  on  which  it  was  to  be  based 
were  already  clearly  worked  out,  and  he  hoped  to  complete 
them  without  much  further  labour.  But  as  he  went  forwards, 
the  subject  grew  upon  his  hands,  difficulties  rose  up  on 
every  side,  and  it  was  not  till  he  had  laboured  upon  it  for 
eleven  years  that  the  Critick  of  Pure  Reason  saw  the  light 
in  its  present  complete  form. 

*  Already  in  February  1772,'  says  Kuno  Fischer,  he 
\vrites  to  Herz :  "I  am  prepared  to  bring  out  a  Crittck 
of  Pure  Reason,  which  explains  the  nature  both  of  theo- 
retical and  practical  knowledge;  and  probably  in  three 
months  I  shall  publish  the  first  part,  which  contains  the 
principles  of  metaphysics,  its  method  and  limits,  reserving 
the  philosophy  of  morals  for  a  future  publication."  The 
whole  work,  in  both  its  parts,  was  designed  to  embrace 
what  afterwards  appeared,  one  after  the  other,  in  three 
different  books— the  Critick  of  Pure  Reason,  of  the  Practical 
Reason,  and  of  the  Judging  Faculty.  At  that  time  Kant 
thought  he  might  complete  the  CrUick  of  Pure  Reason  in 

three  months ! '  .  1       u     • 

In  June  of  the  same  year  he  writes  to  Herz,    that  he  is 
occupied  in  elaborating  a  work  on   The  Limits  of  Sense 
and  Reason,  somewhat  at  large.'     This  must  have  meant 
the  two  investigations,  which   were  afterwards  contained 
in  the  Elementarlehre  of  the   Critick  of  Pure  Reason,--- 
namely,  the  transcendental,  aesthetic,  and  logic.     In  the 
meantime  it  dawns  upon  him  that  the  principles  of  human 
knowledge  must  not  only  be  well  grounded,  but  that  its 
limits  must  be  well  defined ;   and  that  to  solve  fully  the 
question,  there  must  be  added  a  discipline,  a  canon,  an 
architectonic   of  the   pure    reason,   which    he    afterwards 
termed  the  Methodenlehre.     *  With  this  work,'  writes  Kant 
in  November  1776,  *I  cannot  now  hope  to  be  ready  by 
Easter,  but  must  spend  part  of  the  summer  upon  it.'     He 
complains  already  of  frequently-interrupted  health.  ^ 

Respecting  the  system  of  his  new  philosophy,  that  is, 
the  general  idea  of  it,  Kant  is  already  clear ;  but  before 
any  systematic  completion  can  be  thought  of,  the  foundation 


74 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


must  be  laid  in  a  thorough  critical  investigation.  This 
Critick  presents  peculiar  difficulties,  more  especially  as  to 
the  form  in  which  it  should  be  expressed,  which  ought  to 
make  it  convincing  and  comprehensible  for  every  thinking 
person. 

In  August  1777  Kant  writes  that  this  criticism  lies  in 
the  way  of  his  more  systematic  labours  like  a  stone,  which 
he  is  only  occupied  in  rolling  away,  and  he  hopes  to  have 
finished  with  it  in  the  course  of  the  winter.  The  work  goes 
on.  Still,  in  the  summer  of  the  following  year,  it  is  not 
yet  complete,  *  The  size  of  the  book,'  he  says,  *  is  quite 
moderate ;  all  the  difficulty  lies  in  the  matter.' 

*The  causes  of  the  delay,'  writes  Kant,  *  in  this  year 
(1778)  you  must  attribute  to  the  nature  of  the  matter,  and 
the  whole  purport  I  have  in  view.'  In  a  letter  dated 
August  1778,  he  speaks  of  his  work  as  a  handbook  of 
metaphysics,  on  which  he  is  constantly  labouring.  Even 
his  lectures  on  metaphysics  have  assumed  this  year  quite 
another  form. 

At  length,  on  the  ist  of  May  1781,  Kant  writes :  *This 
Easter  a  book  of  mine  will  come  out  under  the  title  of 
Critick  of  Pure  Reason.  It  is  being  printed  for  Hartnock 
in  Halle.  This  book  contains  the  result  of  all  my  various 
investigations,  which  commenced  with  the  ideas  presented 
in  the  inaugural  discourse,  "  De  Mundi  sensibilis,"  etc' 

We  are  thus  brought  to  the  great  era  in  Kant's  life,  and, 
we  may  also  say,  to  the  great  era  in  the  history  of  modem 
philosophy — the  first  appearance  of  the  Critick  of  Pure 
Reason, 


VII. 

Kant's  whole  idea  of  a  critical  research  into  the  entire 
cognitive  faculty  was  certainly  new.  Descartes  and  his 
school  had  inquired  into  the  process  of  human  knowledge, 
and  had  centred  it  in  the  human  reason,  but  they  had  never 
told  us  what  reason  is.  Locke  and  his  school  had  insti- 
tuted the  same  inquiry,  and  had  built  up  the  whole  fabric 
upon  experience ;  but  they  had  never  inquired  of  what 
elements  experience  itself  is  made  up.  The  critique  of 
Kant  was,  in  fact,  a  new  department  of  philosophical  in- 


ImmaJiuel  Kant, 


75 


quiry.  Leaving  all  ontological  questions  in  abeyance,  he 
took  the  fact  of  human  experience  itself,  psychologically 
considered,  as  the  subject-matter  of  his  research,  and  pro- 
posed to  find  out  if  there  is  anything  in  that  fact  which 
could  contravene  the  sweeping  conclusions  of  Hume's 
scepticism. 

Hume  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  all  human  know- 
ledge consists  simply  in  the  experience  or  impression  of 
the  moment ;  that  there  are  no  cL  priori  ideas,  no  ^  priori 
judgments ;  that  there  is  nothing  whatever  within  the  range 
of  human   truth  (now  accepted  as  such)   which   we  are 
capable   of  saying  must  have  been  always  truth.     Kant's 
first  question,  then,  was,  *  Is  this  really  so?     Are  there  no 
judgments   whatever  arising  out  of  our  experience  which 
are  fixed  and  unalterable  ?  '     Are  there  no  synthetic  judg- 
ments a  priori  t     Kant  saw  cleariy  that  the  department  of 
human  knowledge  in  which  this  question  could  be  most 
readily  tested  was  that  of  mathematics.      The  knowledge 
we   are    concerned  with   in  mathematics  springs  directly 
out  of  experience.     It  deals  with  lines,  and   angles,   and 
figures,  etc.,  in  their  relative  positions  and  dimensions — all 
objects  of  sense,   originally   speaking;   and  yet,   though 
springing  distinctly  out  of  our  sense  perceprions,  it  conducts 
us  to  conclusions  .or  judgments  which  we  are  constrained 
to  recognise  as  so  sure  and  certain,  that  no   amount   of 
violence  done  to  our  reason  could  lead  us  to  conceive  that 
those  conclusions  ever  had  been,  or  ever  could  be,  different 
from  what  they  really  are.     Here,  therefore,  we  find  that 
there  are  such  things  as  absolute  judgments,  and  that,  too, 
in  connection  with  knowledge  springing  directly  out  of  our 

experience.  .  . 

But  how  is  this  possible  ?  How  is  it  that  mathematical 
truths  are  invested  with  this  absolute  and  unchangeable 
certitude?  In  investigating  this  question,  Kant  was  led  to 
trace  all  mathematical  ideas  up  to  the  two  elements  of  time 
and  space.  *  Succession  and  extension,  these,'  he  said,  *  are 
the  real  materials  which  lie  at  the  basis  of  all  numerical  and 
geometric  calculations.  Without  them  we  can  have  no 
mathematical  ideas  whatever ;  without  them  we  can  gam 
no  conceptions  of  the  outer  worid ;  without  them  we  can 


76 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


frame  no  experience,  and  possess  no  definite  sense  percep- 
tions. Here,  then,  are  two  elements  of  human  knowledge 
which  do  not  arise  from  outward  experience^  because  out- 
ward experience  is  impossible  without  them  ;  which  do  not 
spring  from  the  senses,  since  all  perception  presupposes 
them ;  which,  in  a  word,  are  d,  priori  forms  of  all  our  sensa- 
tions, and  spring  necessarily  out  of  the  very  nature  and 
structure  of  the  human  mind.  The  question,  therefore,  as 
to  how  synthetic  judgments,  d.  priori,  are  possible,  is 
answered  by  the  fact  now  evolved  from  the  above  analysis, 
that  time  and  space  are  primary  forms  or  conditions  of  all 
human  perception,  and  that  their  relations  must  be  valid, 
subjectively^  so  long  as  the  human  mind  remains  as  it  is.* 

This  was  Kant's  first  and,  we  may  add,  Kant's  great 
discovery  in  mental  science,  inasmuch  as  it  led  to  all  the 
rest  By  a  most  consecutive  course  of  reasoning,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  decomposing  the  fact  of  human  experience,  show- 
ing that  within  that  fact  there  lies  concealed  an  ci  priori 
element,  out  of  which  truths  are  evolved  that  possess  an 
absolute  subjective  certitude.  And  not  only  this,  but  he 
discovered  exactly  what  this  d.  priori  element  is.  He  de- 
tected in  the  two  notions  of  time  and  space  the  precondi- 
tions of  all  our  possible  perceptions,  and  showed  that  a 
science  which  deals  simply  with  the  time  and  space  relations 
(such  as  mathematics)  may  lay  claim  to  the  most  absolute 
certitude.  Having  thus  succeeded  in  decomposing  per- 
ception, Kant  proceeded  in  the  same  way  to  decompose 
the  powers  of  the  understanding. 

To  rightly  appreciate  his  point  of  view,  it  will  be  service- 
able to  compare  it  with  the  teaching  of  the  other  philo- 
sophical thinkers  of  the  time.  The  dogmatic  system  which 
then  prevailed  in  Germany  appealed  to  enlightened  human 
understanding  (aufgekldrter  Menschen-  Verstand)  as  the  basis 
of  all  human  knowledge.  Trusting  to  this  as  the  highest 
guide,  it  laid  down  at  the  threshold  of  all  inquiry  carefully- 
framed  definitions  of  the  terms  involved, — mind,  matter, 
cause,  effect,  nature,  God,  right,  wrong,  etc., — and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  draw  conclusions  fi-om  them  by  means  of  a  con- 
tinued logical  analysis.  Kant  in  his  earlier  treatises  showed 
abundantly  how  utterly  futile  and  untenable  all  this  pro- 


Iminatmel  Kant, 


77 


cedure  had  been,  and  ever  must  be.     He  showed  that  we 
can  never  pass,  by  any  mental  process,  from  the  ideas  thus 
laid  down  to  the  objective  reality,  and  that  all  knowledge 
which  is  not  based  on  actual  experience  is  vam  and  illusory. 
So  far  Kant  seems  to  agree  wholly  with  the  sensational 
school,  and  to  join  his  forces  to  those  of  Locke,  Hume, 
and  the  later  French  sensationalists,  as  a  purely  experi- 
mental philosopher.     This  is  one  side  of  the  medal,  now 
let  us  look  at  the  other.     As  soon  as  the   sensationalist 
comes  with  his  pretensions  to  certain  knowledge,  based  on 
experience,  Kant  meets  him  with  the  inquiry,  *What  is  ex- 
perience ? '     If  he  reply,  *  Experience  is  that  which  comes 
to   us   directly  by  the  senses!  then   Kant  rejoins  that  all 
which  can  come  to  us  directly  by  the  senses,  is  a  discon- 
nected  series   of  bare   subjective    feeling,   without  unity, 
without  connection  of  parts,  without  synthesis  of  any  kind. 
Taken  alone,  this  could  only  present  a  confused  array  of 
passing  phenomena,  devoid  of  all  shape,  order,  or  meanmg. 
To  possess  experience  of  such  a  nature  as  to  produce 
knowledge,  we  must  see  objects  as  existing  in  space  with- 
out us,  and  as  existing  in  time  or  succession  around  us. 
Nor  is  this  all.    Objects  must  be  distinguished  as  possessing 
magnitude  or  quantity;  they  must  be  distinguished  as  genera 
and  species— that  is,  as  possessing  quality  ;  they  must  have 
certain  relations  to    each  other— relations   of  cause   and 
effect,  of  action  and  reaction ;  and  then  they  must  all  be 
gathered  together  in  one  great  synthesis  as  belonging  to  the 
phenomena  of  my  own  perceiving  and  intelligent  mmd. 
Now,  all  thesfe  determinations,  without  which  no  knowledge 
can  exist,  do  not  come   to  us  by  the  senses ;  they  come 
through  the  understanding.     Consequently,  pure  reason  is 
absolutely  necessary  in  order  to  create  or  form  experience. 

Kant's  point  of  view  now  becomes  quite  clear  to  us,  as 
rising  to  a  point  of  higher  unity  above  the  two  rival  schools 
just  mentioned— those  of  idealism  and  realism,  lo  the 
idealist  Kant  says,  *  All  your  innate  ideas  are  null  and  void ; 
they  can  never  bridge  over  the  gulf  which  separates  thought 
from  being,  the  ideal  from  the  real.'  To  the  sensationalist 
he  says,  *All  your  subjective  sense  perceptions  are  blind; 
they  can  never  furnish  you  with  a  single  case  of  real  know- 


7S 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


ledge.'  Sensation  is  necessary  to  furnish  the  primary 
material ;  but  reason  is  necessary  to  form  out  of  it  a  body 
of  experience,  to  which  we  can  attach  the  name  of  know- 
ledge. By  means  of  the  criticism  now  instituted,  Kant 
claims  to  have  discovered  the  true  function  of  each  of  the 
faculties.  We  have  seen  how  sensation  becomes  perception 
by  means  of  the  inward  intuition  of  time  and  space ;  and 
we  have  seen  of  what  elements  experience  is  constructed, 
by  the  application  of  the  forms  of  thought  given  in  the 
categories  of  quantity,  quality,  relation,  and  modality. 

Only  one  point  remains  to  be  cleared  up — namely,  How 
it  is  that  the  human  mind,  in  its  desire  for  complete  know- 
ledge, holds  fast  to  its  belief  in  the  soul,  in  the  universe, 
and  in  God,  notwithstanding  they  all  lie  within  the  super- 
sensuous  world,  and  are  therefore  beyond  the  reach  of 
all  human  evidence  ?  To  clear  up  this  point,  it  should  be 
remembered  that  Kant  attributes  to  the  human  mind  three 
main  cognitive  faculties — perception,  understanding,  and 
reason.  Each  of  these  faculties  contains  principles  or 
forms  of  thought,  by  the  application  of  which  to  the 
materials  given  in  the  senses,  knowledge  in  the  scientific 
sense  is  produced.  These  three  faculties  stand  in  such 
relation  that  the  products  of  each  one  becomes  the  object 
on  which  the  faculty  immediately  above  it  has  to  work. 
Thus,  perception  has  two  inner  forms — time  and  space  ;  and 
the  combination  of  these  with  our  primary  sensations  gives 
rise  to  a  clear  perception  of  individual  objects  as  they 
appear  to  us  in  the  external  world.  Then,  secondly,  the 
understanding  has  its  forms  or  categories — quantity,  quality, 
relation,  modality;  and  our  perceptions,  when  moulded 
and  intellectualized  by  these  concepts,  are  wrought  up  into 
a  connected  and  intelligible  body  of  experimental  know- 
ledge. Thus  we  come  to  comprehend  nature,  to  grasp  the 
external  world  in  all  its  proportions  and  relations.  This 
experimental  knowledge,  the  product  of  the  understanding, 
now  in  its  turn  becomes  the  object  on  which  the  reason  has 
to  exercise  its  powers,  so  as  to  combine  the  knowledge 
gained  by  the  understanding  into  system  and  unity.  The 
sphere  of  the  understanding  comprehends  three  regions  of 
phenomena:— ist.  The  phenomena  of  the  inner  conscious- 


Tmmanuel  Kant, 


79 


ness  ;  2d.  Those  of  the  outer  world  ;  and  3d.  Those  of  all . 
possible  existence.  In  each  of  these  regions  the  human 
reason  seeks  after  completeness  and  unity,  and  places 
before  itself  some  ideal  in  which  they  are  summed  up.  The 
ideal  in  which  the  phenomena  of  the  inner  consciousness 
are  summed  up  is  the  soul ;  that  in  which  all  outward  phe- 
nomena are  summed  up  is  the  universe ;  that  in  which  all 
possible  existence  is  summed  up  is  God.  These  three  ideals 
we  can  never  reach  as  objects  of  actual  and  positive  know- 
ledge;  they  are  simply  regulative  principles,  which  guide 
the  reason  in  its  search  after  the  highest  truth.  Thus  the 
world  of  ontology  is  wholly  illusory  and  unattainable;  it 
may  stand  before  us,  if  we  will,  as  an  object  oi faith,  never 
as  an  object  of  knowledge,  grounded  as  it  is  simply  in  ideas, 
and  not  in  any  actual  experience. 

This,  then,  was  the  conclusion  to  which  the  whole 
Kantian  criticism  led.  For  the  first  year  or  two  after  its 
appearance,  it  excited  comparatively  little  attention.  The 
notices  which  appeared  in  the  journals  exhibited  far  more 
the  incapacity  of  the  writers  to  grasp  the  subject  than  they 
did  the  defects  of  the  work  itself.  Some  of  the  critics,  in 
particular  Garve,  set  it  down  as  a  rechauffe  of  Berkeley's 
idealism.  All  this  misunderstanding  led  Kant  to  consider 
whether  he  could  make  his  ideas  more  plain  and  popular ; 
and  in  1782  appeared  his  Prolegomena  to  all  Future  Meta- 
physics, in  which  he  gave  a  restatement  of  his  principles 
with  a  somewhat  stronger  leaning  to  the  realistic  side.  In 
the  meantime,  some  of  his  friends  and  admirers  began  to 
take  action  in  his  defence,  and  present  the  principles  advo- 
cated in  the  Critick  in  a  more  popular  form.  From  this 
time,  accordingly,  Kant  ceased  to  write  in  his  own  defence, 
and  proceeded  steadily  onwards  to  the  completion  of  his 
system,  in  the  direction  of  morals,  aesthetics,  and  philosophy 
of  religion. 

The  two  works  in  which  Kant's  moral  system  is  contained, 
appeared  respectively  in  1785  and  1787.  The  first  was 
entitled  Foundations  for  a  Metaphysic  of  Morals  ;  the  other, 
Critick  of  Practical  Reason.  There  is  a  striking  analogy 
between  Kant's  treatment  of  the  pure  and  the  practical 
reason.     In  the  former  case  he  steered  his  course  between 


I 


80  Philosophical  Fragments, 

the  rocks  of  idealism  on  the  one  side,  and  the  shallows  of 
sensationalism  on  the  other.     In  the  latter  case  he  follows 
fundamentally  the  same  course.    The  Wolfian  school  started 
with  the  definition  of  moral  perfection,  and  from  this  de- 
rived, by  a  continued  logical  analysis,  a  complete  system  of 
ethics.     On  the  other  hand,  the  English  school  of  moralists 
planted  its  foot  here,  as  in  the  case  of  mental  philosophy, 
upon  direct  experience— that,  namely,  of  the  moral  sense. 
Kant,  as  before,  takes  his  start  from  the  English  pomt  ot 
view— from  the  phenomena  of  moral  sentiment— as  that 
which  alone   furnishes   the   material  for  all  moral  ideas. 
But  just  as  before  in  the  Critick  of  Pure  Reason,  so  he  now 
also  shows  that  we  must  go  beyond  mere  experience  or 
sentiment  to  find  the  firm  foundations  of  a  moral  system, 
and  attempt  to  discover  some  fixed  laws  of  the  practical 
reason,  occupying  in  morals  an  analogous  place  with  the 
categories  in  metaphysics.     Mere  moral  sentiment  can  lead 
to  no  uniformity  of  moral  action  ;  it  vanes  in  character,  in 
intensity,  in  direction.     Only  when  we  discover  that  reason 
has  fixed  laws  for  practice  in  the  same  way  as  it  has  fixed 
laws  for  intelligence,  can  we  gain  a  firm  basis  for  moral 
action.     By  a  beautiful  process  of  Socratic  reasoning,  Kant 
deduces  the  idea  o{  freedom  as  the  condition  of  all  moral  life, 
of  personality  in  connection  with  the  phenomena  of  respect 
and  reverence,  of  duty,  stripped  of  all  notions  of  self-seeking 
or  self-preservation,  and  arrives  at  length  at  the  highest  law 
of  human  action— the  Categoric  Imperative  :  *  Act  so  that 
the  maxims  of  your  will  may  always  hold  good  as  a  universal 
law  of  action  for  all  men.'     In  this  way  human  action  is 
released  from  all  subordinate  and  personal  motives,  and 
placed  under  a  practical  law  of  reason  which  is  universal, 
necessary,  and  unalterable. 

Kant  thus  proposes  to  place  morals  upon  a  basis  ot  the 
highest  certitude.  Instead  of  drawing  his  conclusions  from 
mere  ideas,^X\i^  ideas  of  right,  duty,  perfection,  etc  ,— he 
starts  from  the  world  of  reality,  the  world  of  human  feeling 
and  human  action.  Then,  having  found  a  basis  m  the 
real  he  proceeds  to  discover  the  universal  law  by  which 
human  actions  can  be  guided  to  the  highest  good  with 
absolute  certainty.     And  not  only  this,  but  by  following 


Immanuel  Ka^tL 


81 


out  the  indications  of  moral  law,  he  shows  that  we  are  led 
even  beyond  the  range  of  reason  itself  in  the  speculative  sense. 
Thus  freedom,  which  always  remains  a  mystery  to  the 
speculative  reason,  becomes  an  obvious  postulate  of  the 
practical  reason.  Another  similar  postulate  is  the  fact  of 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  by  means  of  which  alone  the 
Rreat  end  of  our  being— the  highest  good— is  attainable. 
So  also,  in  fine,  the  practical  reason  involves  the  existence 
of  a  Supreme  Being  and  Moral  Governor ;  for  how  can  a 
complete  system  of  moral  law  and  government  exist  without 
an  original  Lawgiver  and  a  Supreme  Governor  ? 

Kant  was  fifty-seven  years  of  age  when  the  Oitick  of 
Pure  Reason  was  published,  and  sixty-three  when  the  Critick 
of  Practical  Reason  appeared.  This  period  accordingly 
represents  the  culminating  point  of  his  powers  as  a  thinker 
and  writer.  Numerous  smaller  treatises  on  widely  different 
subjects  flowed  from  his  pen  during  this  period,  of  which 
we  cannot  now  take  account.  The  Critick  of  the  Judgment 
{Urtheilskraft)  appeared  in  1790,  and  may  be  regarded  as 
the  completion  of  the  whole  system  of  his  philosophical 
ideas.  This  work  was  devoted  to  the  elucidation  of  the 
principles  of  aesthetics,  as  based  upon  the  teleological 
phenomena  of  nature. 

And  this  brings  us  to  the  point  where  we  are  naturally 
led  to  refer  to  Kant's  religious  ideas,  as  shown  in  his  treatise, 
entitled.  Religion  within  the  Limits  of  Reason  only.  This 
treatise  is  an  attempt  to  give  a  complete  moral  interpretation 
of  Christian  theology.  It  discusses,  first  of  all,  the  radical 
evil  existing  in  human  nature,  and  places  in  opposition  to 
it  the  tendency  to  good  which  is  shown  in  the  natural 
conscience  of  man,  and  the  homage  he  renders  to  right 
oyer  wrong.  The  moral  progress  of  mankind  towards  the 
highest  good  consists  in  a  constant  struggle  of  the  good 
principle  to  overcome  the  evil.  These  principles  of  good 
and  evil  lie  so  deep  down  in  the  consciousness,  and  their 
origin  and  nature  are  so  little  comprehended  by  us,  that 
the  efforts  of  the  one  are  attributed  to  a  direct  divine 
influence— to  the  grace  of  God,  and  the  efforts  of  the 
other  are  supposed  to  be  prompted  by  the  power  of  the 
evil   spirit— the   devil.      Christ  is   the   personification   of 

F 


i« 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


82 

humanity  as  completely  victorious  over  -il  and  at^^^^^^^^ 

the  ideal  of  moral  perfection;  ^fd  the  idea  o'  ^oa 

ing  man,  signifies  the  descent  oJ^^/Jf^^hTevIl  Principle 
human  nature    m  o^der  to  overcome^  t  ^^^^^^V^  ^ 

personified  as  the  frince  o'  ""^                  ,  ^  complete 

full  and  inward  recep  .on  of*e  good  and    ne  j 

renunciation  of  the  evil,  and  can  only  cons«    n  P^  ^^ 

moral  transformation  from  ^e  Power  of  ev u  ^^.^^ 

tnithinpurposeandaction  _  Buthowisth:st^^  ^^  ^ 

rocfeV'XoSe^nn^l^^i^^^^^^^^ 

aid  the  individual  in  carrying  them  out    and  tms^  ^^ 

society,  be  tounaea  upuu  '^         ,.  r  .j^g  masses  of 

development  o    ^f =°"  ^"\X?ii,h  T^..^/  ^"'M  to// 

'"^takri^pl  ce  "The    ubst1tu?^n  of  the  latter  for  the 
Will  take  Its  place.     1  "c  i-  ^^o^  of  God,  in  which 

rseWL' of  r°v^nVe^s[mpiy  service  of  a  hoj.  lile 
siVpeTof  all  the  merely  temporary  expedients  of  the 
church,  the  priesthood,  and  the  altar. 

It  happened,  ""f°".""S;°J  SeV  at  this  particular 
Berlin  was  governed  m  religious  m«te  ^^^i^.t,, 

juncture  by  a  ^W^^^^J^^'Xe  Strict  orthodoxy  in  the 
whose  policy  ''^  t°  ,  7""°°!^'  at  the  Universities, 
churches  and  curb  all  ^^^^^j^X  governmental  censure 
With  many  others  ^ant  recewed  a|      ^  .^^  .^  ^^^ 

in  consequence  of  his  ^'6*=  «"  ^  .*,  ,    ,^    ,,  teaching  of 

./  Reason,  a  !'"" /"J"""'""  'Uer  to  confine  himself  to 
that  kind  for  the  future,  and  ^n  "r^i  ^  toj°      ^^^  ^^^^.^^ 

scientific  subjects  only.     As  a  loya^sj^  ^^^  j^^^.^^^j 


ImmaJitiel  Kant, 


83 


long  as  it  was  His  Majesty's  pleasure  to  maintain  it.  Two 
years  after,  however,  the  king  died,  and  liberty  of  speech 
was  restored.  Kant  was  now  in  his  seventy-sixth  year,  and 
the  last  effort  of  his  pen  was,  not  to  resent  the  attack  made 
upon  his  intellectual  freedom,  but  to  show  the  relation 
which  the  different  Faculties  at  the  Universities  should  hold 
to  each  other,  and  to  propose  a  modus  vivendi  by  means  of 
which  dogmatic  theology  and  critical  philosophy  might 
flourish  side  by  dde  in  harmony  and  peace,  and  the  conflict 
of  the  Faculties  cease. 

This  was  written  in  the  year  1798.  The  six  years  which 
Kant  lived  after  that  were  marked  by  increasing  weakness 
both  of  his  mental  and  bodily  powers.  Wasianski,  the 
closest  and  most  intimate  friend  he  had  during  this  period 
of  his  life,  has  given  us,  in  a  little  book  of  two  hundred 
pages,  a  vivid  description  of  Kant  in  his  later  years ;  and  it 
was  mainly  upon  this  that  Cousin  grounded  his  little  tractate, 
entitled,  Kant  dans  les  derniers  Annees  de  sa  vie.^  The  pic- 
ture there  drawn  is  interesting,  but  sad ;  and  in  place  of 
giving  any  description  here  of  the  wreck  of  a  great  intel- 
lectual nature,  it  seems  better  to  refer  the  reader  to  the 
above-mentioned  sources,  the  latter  of  which,  at  any  rate,  is 
easily  accessible.  Kant  died  in  February  1804,  having 
lived  long  enough  to  see  his  philosophy  pass  like  an  electric 
current  of  thought  throughout  the  whole  length  and  breadth 
of  Germany,  and  excite  the  curiosity,  more  or  less,  of  every 
country  in  Europe. 

To  understand  the  secret  of  this  widespread  influence 
and  popularity,  there  are  various  circumstances  to  be  taken 
into  account.  First  of  all,  we  must  remember  that  the  old 
Scholastic  philosophy  was  still  entrenched  in  most  of  the 
Universities  of  Europe,  and  that  the  Wolfian  reform  was 
for  the  most  part  accepted  throughout  Germany  by  the 
more  advanced  teachers  of  the  age.  Starting  from  these 
principles,  the  illuminati  of  that  period  were  gaining  an 
easy  victory  over  all  the  speculative  difticulties  which  beset 
the  path  of  human  knowledge.  All  the  moral  sciences- 
ontology,  ethics,  psychology,  philosophy  of  religion,  etc.— 
were  assuming  a  strangely  rounded  form,  and  the  work  of 
metaphysical  research  seemed  almost  complete.     But  here 


84 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Immamiel  Kant, 


85 


-inneared  on  the  scene  a  robust  intellect  that  marred  all 
h'^se  Fospecl^     Kant  (^der  AJles  -T^'-f  tL"ours°uS 
attacked  the  Aristotelian  moods  and  figures,  but  pursuea 
the  eSy  analytic  method  of  Wolff  into  all  its  numerous 
strongholds!  and  routed  all  its  pretensions  to  the  discovery 
of  certitude  or  truth.     Ontology  was  bodily  overthrown 
psychology  remodelled,  ethics  raised  upon  a  pedesul  far 
^b'ove  thfimagination  of  the  Wolfian  dogmatists,  wh.le^he 
T^>.iin«;nnhv  of  relieion   threatened  to   stfangle   the   eneic 
ffodox/o?  the  LuAeran  Church  by  planting  Chrismnity 
upon  a  higher  moral  basis  than  its  own.     In  a  word  all  the 
accepted  landmarks  of  evidence  were  removed,  and  placed 
tn  Xliy  different  positions  than  ^ose  they  ha^  occjap^ed 
before     It  might  have  been  supposed  that  Kant  s  polemic 
agSnst  the  established  principles  of  P^losophy  wouW  have 

rfised  a  barrier  against  the  P^'^^j'g^''""  °/^'^'4^°"[^ftW 
hut    as  is  generally  the  case,  the  age  had  been   tacitiy 
Separed  fof  them.^  The  idealism  of  Berkeley,  the  sensa- 
S  sm  of  Hume,  the  influence  of  ^ousse^u  ^dV^^^^^ 
the  whole  bent  of  the  eighteenth  century,  had  brought  the 
mfnd  of  Europe  into  a  state  of  ferment  which  was  sure  to 
nrenare  a  welcome  for  any  new  system  of  ideas  that  promised 
m  sat  sfv  The  craving  for  change.     Added  to  this,  the  con- 
clusbn   to  which  the  Kantian  philosophy  led  were  such  as 
were  perfectly  sure  to  attract  the  better  portion  of  the  liberal 
rnkers  of  the  age.     Those  thinkers  had  become  already 
mpatient  of  the  shallow  dogmatism  of  the  Wolfian  school, 
influence  of  Locke,  Newton,  Hume,  had  turned  thei^ 
attention  to  the  claims  of  expenena  as  a  basis  of  truth 
h  her  too  much   neglected ;    and   the   degrf  Uo"    of 
morals  which  so  largely  prevailed,  led  them  to  hail  the 
appearance  of  a  philosophy  which  placed  Aem   on  the 
very  highest  pinnacle  of  human  reverence,  while  the  free- 
th  nkh^g  spirit  of  the  century  naturally  d'sposed  it  for  an 
imenJretation  of  Christianity  which  held  all  its  truths  within 

tVip  limits  of  reason  only.  ^  .    . 

Br  independently  of  the  tendencies  of  any  particular 
a.e  there  was  that  in  the  whole  process  of  Kant's  criticism 
which  indicated  a  real  and  permanent  advance  in  the 
rpecluve  thinking  of  Europe.     Like  those  of  all  great 


\ 


reformers,  the  >vritings  of  Kant  formed  not  a  philosophy 
but  a  method  of  philosophizing.    Just  as  Bacon  propounded 
a  Novum  Organum,  just  as  Descartes  propounded  his  ideas 
in  a  Disquisitio  de  Methodo,  just  as  Locke  sought  to  fix  the 
processes  and  limits  of  the  human  understanding,  so  also 
Kant  in  his  Critick  aimed  simply  at  defining  how  and  how 
far  human  knowledge  is  possible.    Without  either  admitting 
or  rejecting  the  validity  of  idealism  on  the  one  side,  or 
realism  on  the  other,  he  sought  to  find  out  what  permanent 
element  of  truth  there  was  in  both,  and  how  the  d  prion 
and  cL  posteriori  principles  were  both  combined  in  the  every 
act  of  knowing.     We  have  already  seen  how  he  solved  the 
problem.     We  have  seen  how  he  took  the  matter  of  our 
knowledge  from  experience,  and  the  form  from  the  cate- 
gories lying   originally  in  the  constitution  of  the  human 
mind :  how  in  this  way  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
matter  in  its  absolute  essence,  cause  in  any  form  up  to  the 
causa  causarum,  and  the  soul,  apart  from  its  phenomena,  are 
wholly  unknowable ;  how  he  laid  a  separate  foundation  tor 
moral  truth  in  the  actual  facts  of  human  experience,  and 
showed  the  truth  of  religion  within  the  bounds  of  reason, 
basing  our  belief  in  God  and  immortality  upon  the  necessary 
postulates  of  our  moral  nature.     That  Kant  succeeded  in 
giving  a  more  deep  and  penetrating  insight  into  the  whole 
theory  of  human  knowledge  than  had  ever  been  reached 
before,  is  abundantly  evident ;  nor  can  his  services  m  this 
respect  be  ever  dispensed  with  in  any  future  scheme  o 
metaphysics.      But  whether  or  not  he  landed  the  moral 
sciences  upon  any  firm  and  lasting  basis,  is  a  question 
which  history  /Vxdr// answers  in  the  negative.     Reinhold,  one 
of  Kant's  most  acute  followers  and  expounders,  soon  pointed 
out  the  fatal  dualism  in  his  system,  which  attributes  mde- 
pendent  and  unconnected  authority  to  the  powers  of  per- 
ception and  understanding,  and  was  the  first  to  show  that 
these  two  supposed  primary  sources  of  human  knowledge 
must  be  in   the  end  referred  to  one  great  fundamental 
faculty  of  inward  [representation  {Vorstellungs-Vermogen). 
Tacobi  in  the  meantime,  detected  a  like  dualism  between 
the  speculative  and  the  moral  half  of  the  Kantian  criticism, 
and  pointed  out  how  unsatisfactory  it  must  ever  be  to  the 


86 


Philosophical  Fragnmits. 


spirit  of  philosophical  research  that  the  speculative  reason 
should  arrive  at  one  set  of  conclusions,  and  the  practical 
reason  at  another.  So,  after  all  the  gigantic  intellectual 
efforts  put  forth  by  the  Giant  of  the  North,  and  all  the 
enthusiastic  admiration  which  he  gained  from  a  host  of 
ardent  admirers,  the  conviction  returns  to  us  that  we  see  in 
him  only  one  of  the  great  landmarks  of  human  thought 
(like  Plato,  Descartes,  and  Locke  before  him),  who  hand 
on  the  torch  of  speculation  from  age  to  age,  increasing  at 
each  step  the  light  shed  upon  human  truth,  but  only  pre- 
paring the  way  for  a  still  higher  standpoint  and  a  broader 
generalization  in  ages  yet  to  come. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
German  Philosophy  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. 

KANT  died  in   1804.      The  nineteenth   century  was 
ushered  in,  as  concerns   the   philosophical   atmo- 
sphere of  Germany,  by  all  that  ferment  of  thought  which 
arose  out  of  the  dissemination  of  his  doctrines^     Twenty 
years  had  passed  since  the  Critick  of  Pure  Reason  first 
appeared,  and  in  that  twenty  years  it  had  come  to  be  either 
maintained  or  decried,  commented  on  and  expounded  m 
every  University  in  the  country.     The  prevailing  sentiment 
it  awoke,  when  once  fully  understood,  was  undoubtedly 
that   of  admiration,  but  not  wholly   so.      From   various 
quarters  the  sounds  of  discontent  arose,  more  especially 
from  men  of  a  less  hardy  philosophical  temperament,  who 
could  not  sympathize  with  the  rigid,  dialectical  manner  111 
which  Kant  treated  all  the  great  questions  of  human  interest. 
Herder,   for    example,  with   his   half-philosophic,  half-his- 
torical views  of  human  truth,  evinced  a  deep  dissatisfaction 
at  the  way  in  which  Kant  had  cut  all  tradition  from  under 
our  feet,  and  made,  as  it  were,  a  divinity  of  the  pure  and 
practical  reason.     He  even  went  so  far  as  to  designate  the 
enthusiasm  which  had  arisen  for  the  critical  philosophy  as 
*  a  St  Vitus's  dance,  an  ignorant  disgust  for  all  real  know- 
ledge, and  an  unbearable  contempt  for  all  the  great  and 
good  men  who  had  lived  before  us.'  . 

Others,  again,  especially  Jacobi,  though  m  many  pomts 
agreeing  with  Kant  and  awarding  him  the  meed  of  sincere 
admiration,  could  not  accept  the  contradictions  m  which 
he'  taught  that  reason  becomes  involved  when  seeking  to 
verify  its  knowledge  of  supersensual  things.     Starting  trom 

87 


88 


Philosophical  Fragmejits. 


the  fundamental  fact  of  perception  (much  in  the  style  of 
Reid),  Jacobi  strove  to  maintain  that  the  human  mmd 
possesses  a  power  of  intuition,  by  means  of  which  it  is 
brought  directly  into  contact  with  fundamental  realities; 
which  realities  it  can  sufficiently  verify  through  the  im- 
mediacy  of  its  knowledge  without  requiring  either  logical 
proof  or  moral  postulates,  and  consequently  without 
needing  at  all  to  implicate  itself  in  any  of  the  Kantian 
paralogisms. 

This  power  of  immediate  perception,  of  spiritual  intuition, 
of  direct  insight  into  the  regions  of  the  true,  the  beautiful, 
and  the  good,  he  carried  with  him  as  a  fundamental  principle 
all  through  his  long  career  of  literary  and  philosophical 
activity,  and  thus  introduced  a  genial  faith  element  amongst 
the  hard  logical  constructions  of  the  age,  which  exerted  a 
marked  effect  upon  the  subsequent  course  of  German 
speculation.  That  whole  analogous  stream  of  thought 
which  pervaded  the  writings  of  Fries,  Bouterweck,  Calker, 
and  became  introduced  into  the  region  of  theology  by  the 
teaching  of  De  Wette,  owed  its  origin  mainly  to  the  influence 
which  Jacobi  had  exerted  upon  the  philosophical  tendencies 
of  his  age.  In  every  future  history  of  European  speculation, 
the  faith  philosophy  {Glaubens-philosophie),  as  it  is  termed, 
will  hold  a  not  unimportant  place  as  an  antidote,  well  timed 
and  highly  needed,  to  counteract  the  excessive  logical 
subtlety  which  Kantism  introduced. 

We  have  already  shown,  in  a  former  monogram,  that  the 
philosophy  of  Kant  contained  in  it  two  irreconcilable 
elements, 'standing  erect  on  two  separate  pillars — that  of 
experience  on  the  one  side,  that  of  pure  reason  on  the 
other.  Even  Kant  himself,  in  his  various  writings,  failed 
to  hold  the  relative  claims  of  realism  and  idealism  with  an 
even  hand ;  much  less  could  it  be  expected  that  so  delicate 
a  balance  should  be  maintained  throughout  the  school  to 
which  his  philosophy  gave  birth.  We  find,  accordingly, 
that  the  more  recent  metaphysical  and  moral  speculation  of 
Germany,  taking  its  starting-point  almost  exclusively  from 
Kant,  has  run  in  two  main  channels,  according  as  the  real- 
istic or  idealistic  element  has  obtained  the  predominance. 
Its  history  may  be  thus  tabulated  : — 


German  Philosophy  in  Nifieleenth  Century.    89 

KANT. 


A. 

Idealistic  Side. 
Fichte. 

Fr.  Schlegel,  Novalis,  and  the 
Romantic  School. 

1 

SchelHng. 

Natur-philosophie,  Mysticism. 


B. 

Realistic  Side. 

Herbart  and  the 
School  of  Psy- 
chologists. 


C. 


Attempts  to  mediate  between 
Idealism  and  Realism. 


Hegel. 

Right.       Middle.        Left. 

Goschel.  Rosenkranz.       I 

Gabler.    Schaller.  I 

Strauss 


Schopenhauer. 
Hartmann. 
Fechner. 
Lotze. 
sirauss.        Fichte  the  younger. 
Feuerbach.       Ulrici,  and  the 
Ruge.      Zeitschrift  fur  Philosophic. 


Materialism. 
Vogt. 
Moleschott. 

A. — Idealistic  Side. 
Amongst  the  numerous  disciples  of  Kant  there  was  one 
who  showed  himself  possessed  of  the  --^^^  f  ^^^^^^^^ 
rriticism  even  to  a  more  intense  degree  than  the  master 
h  msdf-I  mean  John  Gottlieb  Fichte,  a  man  of  whom 
^rworld  h^s  heard  so  much,  but  whom  it  has  compre- 
hended so  little.     Fichte  was  from  the  first  a  >^'hole-hearted 
Sple  of  Kant ;  he  admired  him  enthusiastically,  regarded 
v!  i^ithod  as  the  great  discovery  of  the  age,  accepted  the 
"^^^t^^^Z  Kich  he  had  shown  the  speculative  reason 
t^be  inW^^     as  accurate  deductions,  but  thought  that 
hey  would  vanish  if  the  principles  involved  m  them  were 
boldly  carried  out  to  their  legitimate  ^^^'^^^^^^^\^  f^^^^ 
hhnself  had  intimated  that  there  might  possibly  be  some 
h  Sier   principles    in    which    those    contradictions    would 
dfaooear    and  in  which  the  results  of  the  pure  and  the 
ScaUeason  would  perfectly  coincide.     Fichte  was  thus 
Fn  facrontrcarrying  out  Kant's  own  suggestion  when  he 
.npmn\ed  L  sup^^^  this  deficiency,  to  clear  up  the  las 
;3m1hlt  was'Lft  unresolved,  and  to  give  to  the  critical 


^k 


90 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


philosophy  one  undivided  basis  from  which  the  whole  of 
its  conclusions  would  legitimately  flow.     Kant,  as  we  have 
seen,  had  put  the  practical  or  ethical  element  decidedly 
above  the  purely  speculative  or  rational ;  this,  also,  Fichte 
accepted  as  a  great  truth.     The  self  or  the  will  he  regarded 
as  the  truest  and  intensest  reality,  the  type  of  all  bemg,  the 
source  of  all  activity ;  and  it  was  from  this,  as  the  primary 
germ  of  existence,  that  he  proposed  to  take  his  start,  in  this 
that  he  conceived  he  had  found  the  true  solution  of  Kant's 
contradictions,  and  on  this,  as  the  unit  idea,  that  he  now 
proceeded  to  build  up  his  whole  system  of  scientific  truth. 
In  the  Kantian  philosophy  there  was  an  unknown  x,  termed 
substance,  noumenon,  or  being  per  se,  which  the  speculative 
reason  could  not  verify,  but  in  which  the  practical  reason 
was  constrained  to  believe.     Fichte  cut  the  knot  of  the  whole 
difficulty  by  transferring  this  unknown   quantity  into   the 
subject  itself,  by  showing  that  it  was  a  creation  of  the  mind's 
own    productive    power,   and    not    a   reality   standing    in 
antagonism  to  it. 

In  this  procedure  there  was  nothing  surely  so  very 
extravagant  as  some  persons  have  imagined.  Almost  all 
philosophical  thinkers  had  stopped  short  at  the  same 
difficulty.  The  most  practical  of  them,  those  who  placed 
implicit  confidence  in  the  senses,  yet  had  again  and  again 
affirmed  that  the  senses  told  them  of  phenomena  only,  and 
could  affirm  nothing  about  the  substratum  in  which  they 
exist.  And  as  to  the  phenomena  themselves,  where  would 
they  be  if  the  percipient  mind  were  not  present  in  the 
creation  ?  Where  would  be  the  hues  of  nature  without  the 
perceiving  eye  ?  where  the  harmonies  of  the  world  without 
the  hearing  ear?  What,  in  short,  would  the  universe  itself 
be,  if  the  soul  were  not  there  as  an  element  in  its  whole 
phenomenal  existence  ? 

In  taking,  then,  the  mind,  or  '  th€  mej  as  the  basis  of  all 
existence,  Fichte  seemed  only  to  be  laying  the  topstone 
upon  the  whole  Kantian  system.  Added  to  this,  he  was 
putting  the  grandeur  of  moral  truth  and  moral  action  in  a 
still  more  striking  light.  Freedom,  he  showed,  was  the 
basis  of  all  being;  by  action  man  created  his  own  universe 
around  him,  so  that  the  very  forms  of  the  material  world 


■- 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century.    9 1 

became  but  the  '  sensized  materials  of  human  duty,'  and 
moral  law  the  law  of  all  existence.     The  state  was  but 
freedom  organized,  the  reconstruction  into  one  united  whole 
of  all  those  personalities  which  had  remained  asunder  in 
their  individual  capacity ;  the  scholar  was  the  highest  and 
truest  man,  the  educator  of  his  race,  the  priest  of  truth ; 
the  aim  and  goal  of  all  social  life  and  civil  society  was  the 
free  development  of  humanity  up  to  perfect  reason  on  the 
side  of  thought  and  perfect  right  on  the  side  of  action. 
Under    these    influences,   all    the   old    traditionary   prin- 
ciples of  kingcraft  and  priestcraft  necessarily  vanish  away. 
Religion  and   morality  become  identical  ^    religious   faith 
is  perfect  trust  in  the  moral  order  of  the  universe :   that 
moral  order   itself  is   God.     The   idea   of   God    as   sub- 
stance,  a  being  apart  from  and  out  of  the  world,  became 
on  these  principles  an  impossibility ;  nay,  every  attempt  to 
conceive  such  a  being,  declared  Fichte,  could  only  prove 
AN  IDOL.     God  exists  simply  in  and  through  the  world: 
He  is  not  a  person,  but  an  external  principle  of  moral 
action ;  and  the  complete  subjection  of  the  will  to  this 
moral  ideal  is  the  highest  and  only  true  piety.     Such  a  state, 
when  once  attained,  is  complete  blessedness— a  blessedness 
in  which  heaven  itself  can  alone  consist. 

Such  were  the  main  conclusions  to  which  Fichte  arrived 
in  the  first  period  of  his  philosophical  career.  The  mode 
in  which  he  worked  them  out  scientifically  we  need  not  here 
exhibit.  It  will  be  sufficient  simply  to  indicate  this  one 
explanation,  that  he  started,  as  Kant  did,  from  the  proposttwn 
as  the  absolute  form  of  all  truth  (a  =  a\  and  from  this  as 
the  foundation  built  up  a  complete  formal  system,  which, 
he  conceived,  stood  upon  a  most  indisputable  basis,  and 
marched  onwards  to  its  completion  by  the  most  rigid  logical 

consecution.  ^u  •  4.- 

These  conclusions  of  Fichte  certainly  look  atheistic 
enough  in  their  plain  and  obvious  meaning;  and  yet 
Fichte,  though  hurried  on  by  the  ardour  of  speculation  into 
such  results,  was  very  far  from  being  what  we  usually  term 
an  atheist  in  his  heart.  The  proof  of  this  was  soon  to  be 
tested  by  an  event  which  made  an  epoch  in  Fichte  s  lite, 
and  operated  most  powerfully  upon  the  whole  course  of  his 


^  '^w 


9  2  Philosophical  Fragments. 

subsequent  speculations.  An  article  which  he  had  inserted 
in  a  philosophical  journal,  *  On  the  ground  of  our  belief  in  a 
divine  government,'  drew  down  upon  him,  from  some  of  the 
officials  of  the  Saxon  government,  the  direct  charge  ot 
atheism,  and  ended  in  his  virtual  dismissal  from  his  pro- 
fessorial chair  at  Jena.  This  event  forms  a  deeply  interest- 
ing point,  not  merely  in  Fichte's  life,  but  in  the  historical 
development  of  our  modern  conceptions  of  science,  religion, 
and  humanity,  of  our  whole  philosophy  of  the  universe. 

The  old  '  Weltanschauung'  and  the  new  came  here  into 
direct  collision,  and  all  the  happy  dreams  in  which  Fichte 
had  indulged  of  a  regenerated  state  of  society,  where  reason 
and  right  should  reign  supreme,— where  the  scholar  would 
be  the  priest,  and  all  the  rest  of  mankind  become  willing 
devotees  to  his  great  mission,— vanished  away  before  the 
prejudices  of  a  few  ignorant  Bureaucrats,  who  not  only  held 
their  own  opinions  very  tenaciously,  but  had  the  power,  in 
a  certain  degree,  to  enforce  them. 

The  contrast  was  certainly  sufficiently  striking.     Here  on 
the  one  side  were  a  few  old-fashioned  officials,— men  who 
had  personally  very  loose  notions  of  morality,  both  in  theory 
and  in  practice ;    men  who  accepted  as   a   tradition   the 
verbal  belief  in  a  God  and  a  state  Christianity,  but  who, 
beyond  the  state  side  of  the  question,  had  little  care  either 
for  the  one  or  for  the  other.     On  the  other  side  stood 
Fichte,  a  man  of  intense  intellectual  energy,  of  stern  and 
stoical  moral  principles,  of  a  disposition  to  sacrifice  every- 
thing he  possessed  for  truth,  and  who,  though  extreme  m 
his  speculative  views,  yet  retained:  a  deep  heart  reverence  for 
the  Bible  as  the  grandest  of  moral  disquisitions,  and  even 
read  it  daily,  accompanied  with  offerings  of  pious  devotion, 
in  the  bosom  of  his  family.     No  wonder  that  a  charge  of 
atheism  from  these  men  roused  the  indignation  of  his  soul 
down  to  its  very  centre ;  nor  can  we  pass  a  very  severe 
judgment  upon   him,  when  we  read  the  burning  pages  in 
which  he  vindicated  himself  before  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
and  hurled  back  the  charge  of  practical  atheism  upon  his 

accusers. 

What  is  that  God  (this  is  the  spirit  of  his  reply)  for  which 
you  appear  so  zealous  ?     Words,  nothing  but  words.     Your 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century.    93 

forefathers  have  put  together  a  set  of  phrases,  and  you  have 
learnt  to  chatter  the  same  phrases  after  them.     You  imagine 
that  in  using  these  forms  of  speech,  and  professing  your 
assent  to  these  propositions,  you  are  believing  in  God  and 
paying   homage   to  truth.      Know,  O  nien,  that   you  are 
denying  God  and  desecrating  truth.     All  your  thought  in 
holding  these  propositions,  is  to  stand  well  with  the  world ; 
or  if  perchance  there  be  some  little  feeUng  left  that  there 
really  is  a  Being  who  takes  notice  of  your  vain  repetitions, 
it  is  only  with  a  view  of  getting  all  the  enjoyment  you  can 
out  of  His  favour  that  you  propitiate  Him  with  your  vows. 
If  it  were  otherwise,  you  would  have  a  zeal  for  truth  and  for 
rkhtl     If  you  really  had  any  belief  in  God  m  yonx  hearts, 
YOU  would  become  like  Him,  and  act  as  the  Supreme  Father, 
ihe  source  of  all  good,  acts  towards  His  creatures.     Your 
deity  is  in  fact  an  idol;  and  that  idol  is  made  to  be  the 
guardian   of  your  own  selfishness.     What   is  my  atheism 
compared  with  this?     I  do  not  pretend  to  hold  a  truth, 
when  in  fact  I  am  only  repeating  a  phrase.     I  only  acknow- 
ledge  as  truth  what  I  actually  realize  and  possess  within 
mef  what  forms  part  of  my  own  real  life,  what  mixes  itself 
up  in  intimate  relation  with  my  own  personality,  and  evinces 
itself  by  moral  energy  and  practical  work  for  humanity  at 
large      I  reverence  all  that  I  find  everywhere  of  good  and 
great,  and  bow  myself  in  deep  adoration  before  the  moral 
order  of  the  world ;  to  assert  this  I  am  ready  to  labour,  or 
if  need  be  to  die,  for  death  in  the  cause  of  right  is  life  to 
the  world  after  me.     (See  the  Appellation  an  das  Publicum 
se^en  die  Anklage  des  Atheismus.)     From  the  whole  spirit  of 
this  defence,  it  will  be  evident  that  Fichte  was  on\y  specu- 
latively  atheistical  in  his  principles;    he  retained  all  that 
inward  sense  of  an  infinite  power,  an  infinite  purity,  and  an 
infinite  goodness  which  forms  the  subjective  basis  of  every 
man's  true  religious  life  ;  only  his  philosophic  theory  taught 
him  to  deduce  everything  from  the  phenomena  of  his  own 
self-consciousness,  and  he   had  not  yet  found  any  formal 
method  of  translating  these  inward  expenences  mto  the 
language  of  objective  truth.  . 

The  charge  of  atheism,  however,  and  the  necessity  in 
which  it  involved  him  of  appealing  to  the  public  m  self- 


94  Philosophical  Fragnimts, 

defence    worked   a  considerable   modification   in  Fichte's 
views.    'For  what  was  he,  in  fact,  admitting,  by  the  very 
appeal  he  made  to  public  opinion  as  the  judge  and  umpire 
in  the  strife  between  the  state  theology  on  the  one  hand, 
and  modern  science   on   the   other?     He   was   appealmg 
clearly  to   a   kind   of  communis  sensus,  a   universal  moral 
consciousness,  which  knew  nothing  about  ' the  me'  and  the 
*  not  me;  which  possessed  none  of  the  privileges  of  learning, 
and  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  '  nature  of  the  scholar. 
Hence,  driven  by  the  stringent  experiences  of  human  lite, 
he  began  to  retreat  step  by  step  from  his  purely  individual 
point  of  view.     The  subjective  Ego  on  which  he  had  at  first 
built  his  whole  system  of  science,  glided  almost  imperceptibly 
into  a  kind  of  absolute  Ego,—i\it  ideal  of  all  human  person- 
ality combined,  of  which  the  individual  is  but  one  imperfect 
manifestation.     The  standpoint   of  absolute  kno^vledge,  as 
expressed  by  the  principle  of  subjective  idealism  {a^a), 
passed  over  insensibly  into  ^.  fundamental  feeling,  lying  deep 
in  the  universal  bosom  of  humanity  ;  and  this  fundamental 
feeling  pointed  to  a  law  in  the  universe,  separate  from,  and 
lying  far  above,  the  phenomena  of  our  individual  subjective 
life      What  comes  to  view  in  the  individual  consciousness, 
he  now  saw  to  be  but  the  image  of  a  still  higher  reality,  the 
streaming  forth  of  the  universal  life,  the  infinite  thought, 
the  eternal  mind,  which  fills  everything  with  its  presence, 
which  gives  form  and  reality  to  all  nature,  and  an  infinite 
purpose  to   humanity  in  its  historical  development.     The 
way  to  a  blessed  life  is  to  rise  upwards  to  the  full  conscious- 
ness of,  and  union  with,  the  divine  idea  ;  not  that  we  can  in 
this  way  create  for  ourselves  a  Deity,  but   that,  by  self- 
abnegation,  we  can  raise  ourselves  to  a  perfect  harmony 
with  the  divine,  to  a  life  in  God.     Thus,  then,  the  purely 
moral  point  of  view  with  which  Fichte  originally  started, 
ends  at  last  in   the  development  of  a  sublime   religious 

"^To^this  point  Fichte  had  arrived  when  the  struggle  for 
German  freedom  broke  out.  Carried  away  by  the  most 
ardent  patriotism,  he  now  threw  aside  his  dry  abstractions, 
and  abandoned  the  study  of  syllogistic  formulas  for  the 
study  of  human  history  and  the  laws  of  human  progress. 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century.    95 

The  light  of  the  living  individual  broke  in  upon  the  con- 
ceptions of  mere  abstract  thinking,  the  element  of  history 
entered  into  the  substance  of  his  philosophic  speculation,  - 
and  the  very  spirit  which  had  so  long  dreamed  o\  forcing 
the  human  reason  into  the  admission  of  one  rigid  system  of 
science  now  lived  to  know  that  nature  is  stronger  than 
system,  that  the  spirit  of  humanity  is  more  real  than  specu- 
lation, and  that  the  thought  of  the  age  which,  when  it 
will,  can  throw  up  all  kinds  of  abstract  systems  to  the  light 
of  day,  can  also  just  as  easily,  when  they  have  done  their 
work,   dismiss    them   into   the    regions   of   darkness   and 

oblivion.  ,     ,      ,,  a  a 

The  philosophy  of  Fichte  was   undoubtedly  one-sided; 
and  though  he  himself  earnestly  attempted  t(»  correct  the 
extreme   subjective  conclusions  to  which  it  led,  he  never 
succeeded,  more  than  in  a  very  partial  degree,  in  doing  so. 
Some  of  his  early  disciples,  however,  with  far  less  moral 
force  than  himself,  did  not  hesitate  to  carry  out  the  principle 
of  the  absolute  supremacy  of  the  will  to  its  culminating  point, 
adapting  the  speculative  principles  of  Fichte  on  this  head 
at  once  to  life  and  practice.     This  was  more  especially  the 
case  with  Friedrich  Schlegel  and  a  few  of  the  kindred  mmds 
with   which   he   stood  in  intimate   connection.      Schlegel, 
having  accepted   the   absoluteness  of  '  the  me '  in  theory, 
considered  himself  only  consistent  in  so  interpreting  it  as 
to  deduce  a  corresponding  idea  of  human  hfe— one,  that  is 
in  which  the  will,  breaking  through  all  bounds  of  law  and 
order,    should   assert  for  itself  the  most   entire   right  of 
arbitrary   caprice.      Work  he    accordingly  denounced   as 
slavery,  and  declared  the  will  to  be  free  only  when  it  gave 
itself  up  to  a  divine  idleness,  sporting  at  pleasure  with  all 
existence,  vegetating  in  lawless  defiance  of  all  estab  ished 
ideas  of  labour  or  duty,  and  giving  itself  up  to  the  full  bent 
of  its  own  inward  impulses.     This  idea  of  hfe  is  shadowed 
forth   in   the   Lucinde,    which   aimed    more   especially  at 
breaking  down  the  restraints  of  marriage,  in  favour  of  the 
natural  attraction  of  kindred  minds  to  each  other      Ihat 
the  subjective  principle,  driven  to  this  excess,  could  main- 
tain its  ground  against  the  better  instincts  of  humamty,  was 
plainly  impossible ;    the  irony  with  which  it  pursued  all 


96 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


w 


proprieties  of  human  life  recoiled   upon  itself,  the  whole 
system  passed  into  mere  nihilism  and  disappeared. 

This  precise  point,  however,  in  which  the  extreme  sub- 
jective principle  evaporated  and  passed  away,  is  chiefly- 
interesting  as  being  the  cradle  of  a  new  phase  of  thought, 
and  a  new  view  of  human  life,  which  has  since  played  a 
highly  important  part  in  the  literary  history  of  Germany, — 
I  mean  the  modem  romantic  school.  The  romantic  school 
of  the  nineteenth  century  was  the  first  powerful  reaction 
which  organized  itself  against  the  modern  philosophic  ideas 
on  which  we  have  been  discoursing,  springing,  as  most 
reactions  do,  out  of  the  excesses  into  which  the  reigning 
system  had  been  driven.  Minds  weary  with  speculation,  and 
urged  on,  step  by  step,  to  the  verge  of  nihilism,  are  natur- 
ally unable  to  turn  round  and  quietly  retrace  their  path  ; 
they  look  over  the  chasm  to  the  brink  of  which  they  have 
arrived,  and  starting  back  with  a  convulsive  horror  of  all 
speculation,  take  refuge,  for  the  most  part,  in  the  first 
positive  and  authoritative  system  of  connected  ideas  which 
may  present  itself  to  their  view.  So  it  was  with  Fr.  Schlegel, 
so  with  Novalis  and  others,  in  whom  the  extreme  subjective 
principle  thus  operated  its  own  cure.  Novalis  died  too 
young  for  it  ever  to  be  apparent  what  ultimate  direction  his 
ideas  would  have  taken ;  but  Schlegel,  after  having  vainly 
tried  to  clip  the  wings  of  his  speculative  fancy  by  a  rigid 
application  of  the  laws  of  logic,  sank  back  into  the  most 
misty  Middle  Age  view  of  life,  and  then  tried  to  find  rest  for 
his  spirit  in  the  bosom  of  the  Catholic  church. 

The  romantic  school,  once  commenced,  soon  began  to 
extend  itself  over  a  very  considerable  surface  of  literary 
activity.  'J'ieck  threw  around  it  the  charm  of  his  exquisite 
fiction ;  and  even  Schiller,  though  imbued  with  a  large 
infusion  of  the  old  classic  spirit,  and  something  of  the 
modem  also,  devoted  a  considerable  portion  of  his  genius 
to  the  development  of  the  romantic  element.  Those  who, 
like  Schlegel,  had  practically  advocated  a  reckless  moral 
licence,  or  who,  like  Count  Stolberg  and  Leo  the  historian, 
had  lived  through  the  varied  phases  of  actual  licentiousness, 
having  lost,  in  this  way,  all  internal  moral  manhood,  threw 
themselves,  not  unnaturally,  into  the  arms  of  the  confessor 


r. 

II 


German  Philosophy  in  Nifieieenth  Centnry.     97 

and  the  priest,  just  as  the  woman  of  fashion  in  France 
takes  the  veil  when  the  sunshine  of  her  pleasure  is  over. 
The  majority,  however,  contented  themselves  with  setting 
up  a  middle  age  picture  of  human  existence  in  place  of  that 
rigid  philosophic  system  of  ideas  which  threatened  to 
break  down  every  cherished  tradition,  to  subvert  the  old 
historic  bases  of  society,  to  blot  out  all  artificial  distinctions 
of  rank  from  amongst  mankind,  and  to  reconstruct  the 
world  of  human  society  anew  upon  reason  and  right. 

These  attempts  of  the  romantic  school,  however,  as  far 
as  the  philosophic  element  is  concerned,  were  soon  cast 
into  the  shade  by  the  rising  star  of  Schelling  and  the  Natur- 
philosophie.  Schelling  possessed  a  temperament  extremely 
different  from  that  of  Kant  and  Fichte,  though,  strictly 
speaking,  he  took  up  the  thread  of  speculation  where  they 
had  left  off.  His  mind,  instead  of  being  cast  in  that  rigid 
logical  mould  which  characterized  his  predecessors,  was 
decidedly  genial  and  poetical  in  its  tone  and  tendency. 
He  was  one  of  those  young  and  ardent  natures  which 
arrive  at  an  early  maturity,  and  pour  out  their  luxuriance  of 
thought  and  fancy  in  the  first  gush  of  productive  effort 
Schelling's  writings,  accordingly,  are  far  from  being  sys- 
tematic, and  still  farther  from  being  progressive  and  self- 
consistent  throughout.  He  was  roused  early  in  life  by  the 
genius  of  Fichte  to  philosophic  thought,  and  came  forward 
virtually  as  his  apologist  and  disciple  when  Fichte  himself 
was  under  the  cloud  of  popular  opposition  and  censure. 
But  it  was  only  for  a  brief  period  that  he  remained  true  to 
that  subjective  principle  with  which  his  philosophical 
career  commenced.  One  work  followed  another  with 
almost  overwhelming  rapidity,  and  that  in  a  series  by  no 
means  characterized  by  any  definite  logical  development — 
a  series  which  seemed  rather  like  a  succession  of  dissolving 
views,  each  brilliant  and  captivating  for  the  moment,  but 
then  merging  into  some  other  form  of  speculation  equally 
beautiful  and  evanescent.  SchelHng's  philosophical  writings, 
accordingly,  must  rather  be  regarded  as  a  succession  of 
pregnant  and  suggestive  fragments^  than  viewed  in  the 
light  of  one  connected  system  of  ideas.  Their  tendency, 
however,  has  uniformly  been  to  bear  away  from  the  sub- 

G 


IS 


98 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


jective  and  critical  extreme  towards  the  more  objective, 
the  more  positive,  and  to  some  extent  even  towards  the 
romantic. 

Fichte,  as  we  have  seen,  had  already  idealized  the 
general  conception  of  human  science ;  it  was  Schelling's 
great  work  to  apply  the  ideal  philosophy  to  the  study  of 
nature,  the  key-stone  to  his  whole  system  being — that  all 
nature  is^  truly  speaking,  a  manifestation  of  mind.  The 
philosopher,  according  to  Schelling,  must  not  be  an  every- 
day thinker ;  nor  must  he  be  one  of  those  who  are  merely 
skilled  in  the  formal  processes  of  logic ; — he  must  be,  on 
the  contrary,  a  man  of  true  genius,  a  man  who  has  the  gift 
of  intellectual  intuition,  and  who,  by  virtue  of  this  power  of 
philosophic  insight  into  the  secret  workings  of  nature,  can 
look  through  the  veil  of  the  material,  in  which  it  is  em- 
bosomed, and  see  the  spiritual  reality.  The  man  who  can 
so  interpret  nature  will  be  in  no  danger,  on  the  one  side,  of 
viewing  it  as  dead  matter,  impelled  by  mechanical  forces  ; 
nor,  on  the  other  side,  of  confounding  it,  as  Fichte  did,  with 
the  subjective  or  individual  principle,  the  personal  and 
percipient  mind.  He  will  see  rather,  that  nature  and  soul, 
differing  in  their  phenomenal  existence,  are  one  in  their 
ultimate  essence  ;  and  that  the  contrast  between  mind  and 
matter,  which  must  ever  appear  obvious  enough  upon  the 
surface  of  things,  vanishes  when  we  trace  them  up  to  their 
first  and  inmost  principle.  Viewed  here,  they  are  absolutely 
one.  From  this  principle  it  was  that  the  system  of 
Schelling  assumed  the  title  of  the  Identitdts-philosophie. 

It  must  in  justice  be  confessed,  that  the  mode  in  which 
SchelHng  conceived  of  nature  as  a  system  of  living  forces, 
homogeneous  with  mind  itself,  is  one  which  has  largely 
been  gaining  ground  in  modern  times,  and  that,  too, 
amongst  purely  physical  investigators.  The  more  we 
penetrate  into  the  essence  of  matter  as  matter,  the  more  it  is 
found  that  the  problem  eludes  our  search,  and  the  nearer  it 
brings  us  to  the  confines  of  what  we  call  the  immaterial. 
Schelling,  to  make  good  his  ground  in  this  respect,  goes 
into  a  very  minute  exposition  of  the  real  elements  out  of 
which  our  whole  conception  of  nature  is  compounded,  and 
shows  how  they  may  all  be  viewed  as  the  obvious  results  ot 


German  Philosophy  in  Ninetecjith  Century.    99 

living  forces,  Gng2igtd  in  a  connected  process  of  self-develop- 
ment. First,  there  are  the  forces  of  inorganic  nature  ;  and 
what  other  rational  expression  can  we  get  for  these,  than 
that  of  an  expansive  and  an  attractive  power,  the  two 
resulting  at  last  in  the  phenomena  of  gravity  ?  The  science 
of  mechanics,  again,  it  is  well  known,  measures  matter 
merely  as  so  vanch.  force  ;  it  is  only  the  unphilosophic  mind 
that  views  it  as  so  much  dead  and  immoveable  substance. 
To  the  forces  of  purely  inorganic  matter  succeed  those 
more  ethereal  powers  which  we  know  under  the  names  of 
magnetism  and  electricity,  the  mysterious  connection  of 
which  with  the  primary  phenomena  of  organization  (we  may 
remark  in  passing)  is  now  largely  believed,  though  not  by 
any  means  adequately  explained. 

These  forces  bring  us  next  into  the  region  of  organization, 
which  Schelling  traces  up  through  the  phenomena,  first,  of 
reproduction,  as  seen  throughout  the  vegetable  world  ;  then 
of  irritability,  as  the  incipient  manifestation  of  animal  exist- 
ence, until  at  last  we  reach  the  first  indication  of  sensibility 
itself.  Having  arrived  at  sensibility,  the  philosophy  of 
nature  hands  us  over  to  the  philosophy  of  mind.  Beginning 
with  bare  feeling,  as  the  intermediate  link  between  nature 
and  the  soul,  Schelling  traces  the  ideal  side  of  the  process, 
just  as  he  had  done  the  real,  through  the  different  pheno- 
mena of  sensation,  intellection,  and  will,  until  the  individual 
is  complete,  and  begins  to  play  his  part  on  the  broad  theatre 
of  the  world.  The  human  individual,  striving  after  unity, 
next  combines  with  other  individuals,  and  forms  a  social 
state  and  a  civil  government;  and  lastly,  the  entire  progress 
of  society  in  the  world  forms  the  wondrous  drama  of  human 
history. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  this  process,  Schelling  attempts 
to  show  that  there  is  but  one  principle  of  mind  and  reason 
in  operation.  The  absolute  reason  embodies  itself  even  in 
what  we  term  inorganic  matter,  and  there  developes  powers 
on  which  the  harmony  of  the  entire  material  universe 
depends.  The  same  reason  enters  as  an  organic  law  into 
the  infinitesimal  germs  of  vegetable  life,  and  brings  forth, 
on  every  side,  forms  of  inexhaustible  beauty.  Reason  next 
comes  to  consciousness  in  the  kingdom  of  animated  nature, 


lOO 


Philosophical  Fragmefils, 


and  goes  on  building  up  the  organic  frame  to  an  ever 
higher  degree  of  perfection,  until  in  man  it  reaches  the 
stage  of  self -consciousness^  and  can  gaze  with  intelligent 
wonder  upon  its  own  work.  Finally,  in  society  and  in 
history  it  carries  on  a  still  further  development,  as  the 
powers  of  universal  humanity  unfold,  and  urges  us  onwards 
along  a  career  of  progress,  the  law  of  which  we  can  com- 
prehend, but  the  consummation  of  which  is  involved  in  the 
mystery  of  futurity. 

Such  is  the  fundamental  point  of  view  from  which 
Schelling  started  in  his  earlier  philosophical  efforts.  With 
regard  to  his  method,  we  have,  in  the  logical  form  through 
which  these  ideas  were  conveyed,  the  first  clear  manifesta- 
tion of  the  triple  dialectic  process  by  which  thought  rolls 
forward  from  step  to  step  in  its  career  of  self-development, 
rising  at  each  pulsation  to  a  higher  category,  and  construct- 
ing the  form  of  every  truth  in  its  mighty  progress.  As  this 
will  come  more  fully  before  us  when  we  treat  of  the 
Hegelian  system,  we  leave  it  for  the  present  without  further 
exposition. 

The  later  phases  of  Schelling's  philosophy  we  need  not 
touch  upon.  They  were  chiefly  characterized  by  unavailing 
attempts  to  reconcile  the  pantheistic  standpoint  which  he 
first  assumed  with  the  notion  of  a  personal  Deity,  and  with 
the  fundamental  dogmas  of  the  Catholic  faith.  In  doing 
this,  he  lost  the  freshness  and  charm  of  his  first  philosophic 
principles  on  the  one  hand,  without  solving  the  problem  of 
religion  or  satisfying  the  practical  religious  requirements  of 
humanity  on  the  other.  He  merely  glided  step  by  step 
into  a  strained,  unintelligible  mysticism,  and,  without 
acknowledging  it,  became  a  foe  to  all  purely  philosophic 
speculation,  and  a  tacit  abettor  of  an  antique  romanticism. 
The  followers  of  Schelling  formed  two  distinct  schools. 
Those  who  attached  themselves  to  his  Natur-philosophie 
(such  as  Oken,  Steffens,  Cams,  and  others)  have  really  done 
good  service  in  spiritualizing  the  physical  philosophy  of  the 
age  without  running  into  any  censurable  extravagance  ; 
while  those  who  started  from  Schelling's  later  mysticism 
(such  as  Schubert,  Baader,  and  others  of  smaller  dimensions 
still)  have  done  little  else  than  revel  in  a  species  of  senti- 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century.    lor 

mental  mysticism,  sometimes  of  more  elevated,  and  at 
others  of  a  very  mean  and  trifling,  character.  But  the 
influence  of  Schelling  was  not  confined  to  Germany.  His 
attempt  to  unite  the  process  of  the  physical  sciences  in  one 
affiliated  line  with  the  study  of  man,  both  in*  his  individual 
constitution  and  historic  development,  has  also  had  a  very 
considerable  result  out  of  his  own  country.  No  one,  for 
example,  who  compares  the  philosophic  method  of  Schelling 
with  the  Philosophic-positive  of  Auguste  Comte,  can  have 
the  slightest  hesitation  as  to  the  source  from  which  the 
latter  virtually  sprang.  The  fundamental  idea  is  indeed 
precisely  the  same  as  that  of  Schelling,  with  this  diff'erence 
only,  that  the  idealistic  language  of  the  German  speculator 
is  here  translated  into  the  more  ordinary  language  of 
physical  science.  That  Comte  borrowed  his  views  from 
Schelling  we  can  by  no  means  affirm ;  but  that  the  whole 
conception  of  the  affiliation  of  the  sciences,  in  the  order  of 
their  relative  simplicity  and  the  expansion  of  the  same  law 
of  development,  so  as  to  include  the  exposition  of  human 
nature  and  the  course  of  social  progress,  is  all  to  be  found 
there,  no  one  in  the  smallest  degree  acquainted  with 
Schelling's  writings  can  seriously  doubt. 

Before  we  proceed  to  the  Hegelian  system,  let  us  make 
a  brief  pause  and  look  back  upon  the   course  we   have 
already  traversed.     Kant,  we  have  seen,  showed  by  a  very 
acute  process  of  criticism  that  the  human  reason,  in  attempt- 
ing to  arrive  by  a  speculative  process  at  the  knowledge  of 
supersensual  realities,  such  as  the  essence  of  the  soul,  or  of 
the  universe,  or  of  God,  becomes  involved  in   hopeless 
contradictions,  from  which  it  can  never  free  itself  by  any 
scientific  procedure.     Fichte  accepted  these  contradictions, 
and  made  the  solution  of  them  the  very  principle  of  his 
scientific  system.     We  never  can  arrive  at  these  realities, 
he  affirmed,  and  that  for  the  obvious  reason  that  they  are, 
in  fact,  no  realities  at  all,  apart  from  the  percipient  and 
thinking  subject,  *  the  me:     In  this  way  he  based  the  whole 
system  of  human  knowledge  upon  one  simple  foundation, 
showed    the    perfect    unity  of  thought  and   being,  made 
substance  but  a  form  of  the  infinite  personality,  and  raised 
human  nature,  morally  speaking,  to  what  he  regarded  as  its 


102 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


I 


true  position  of  absolute  freedom.  Schelling,  taking  up 
the  thread  of  speculation,  and  accepting  the  idealistic  basis 
of  the  universe  on  the  one  hand,  while  he  avoided  the  one- 
sided subjective  principles  of  Fichte  on  the  other,  evolved 
in  this  way  a  theory  which  maintained  the  fundamental 
identity  of  mind  and  nature,  and  then  sought  to  make  good 
his  ground  by  translating  all  the  natural  phenomena  of  the 
universe  into  the  new-found  language  of  idealism.  The 
attempts  of  both  these  remarkable  minds  to  reach  the  truths 
after  which  they  were  aspiring,  were,  however,  fragmentary 
and  imperfect ;  they  failed  in  laying  hold  of  any  great 
central  principle  or  method  by  which  the  logical,  i\\Q physical, 
and  the  moral  order  of  the  world  could  be  reduced  to  one 
connected  system,  and  the  perfect  harmony  of  thought, 
nature,  and  human  history  be  made  clearly  apparent.  This 
final  step  was  left  for  the  philosophic  genius  of  Hegel. 

The  extension  of  the  Hegelian  philosophy,  its  wide 
acceptance,  and  its  influence  upon  German  society  at  large, 
are  phenomena  which  appear  almost  unprecedented  in 
modem  times,  and  have  commonly  been,  to  English  spec- 
tators at  least,  perfectly  unaccountable.  We  shall  endeavour 
to  clear  up  the  mystery  a  little,  by  pointing  out  on  the  one 
side  the  real  elements  of  common  sense  which  this  system 
contains,  and  on  the  other  side  the  peculiar  circumstances 
in  the  political  and  religious  position  of  Germany  which 
greatly  contributed  to  its  extension. 

Hegel's  aim  in  his  first  great  philosophical  work  {Phano- 
menologie  des  Geistes)^  which  he  usually  termed  his  '  voyage 
of  discovery,'  was  very  simple  as  well  as  very  necessary. 
He  did  not  plunge  at  once  into  any  one-sided  idealistic 
principle,  like  that  either  of  Fichte  or  Schelling ;  but  taking 
for  granted,  according  to  the  spirit  of  the  whole  modem 
science  from  Kant  downwards,  that  truth  really  exists,  and 
that  it  is  possible  to  rise  to  a  clear  and  adequate  perception 
of  it  by  some  medium  or  other,  he  set  about  a  sober  and 
critical  examination  of  all  the  facts  of  the  case. 

If  human  knowledge,  he  thought,  really  tends  to  a  truly 
complete  and  philosophic  form,  then  it  will  be  well  to  watch 
the  process  by  which  this  end  is  obtained — to  watch  it,  on 
the  one  side,  as  it  appears  on  the  sphere  of  the  individual 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century,    103 

consciousness,  and  on  the  other  side,  as  it  appears  upon 
the  sphere  of  man's  historic  development  m  the  world. 
Starting  with  this  idea,  he  takes  an  inventory  of  all  the 
phenomena  of  mind,  viewed  as  the  great  organ  of  truth ; 
he  explains  the  relation  of  the  subject  to  the  object,  as  seen 
in  the  common  unreflective  process  by  which  the  ordinary 
human  consciousness  grasps  and  appropriates  the  realities 
of  the  external  world ;   he  shows  how  the  light  of  self- 
consciousness  breaks  in-that  light  in  which  the  mind  views 
evervthing  in  relation  to  itself,  and  asserts  its  own  supremacy 
over  nature  and  human  life ;  finally,  he   follows   up   the 
process  until  he  arrives,  through  the  different  stages   of 
man's    moral    and   religious    development,  ^^   P!''[''%^\ 
knowledge,  properly  so  called— knowledge  in  which  individual 
phenomena  are  seen  only  as  the  results  and  apphcations  of 
the  universal  laws  of  existence.  •     ,1,:, 

To  illustrate  the  nature  of  philosophic  knowledge  in  this 
sense,  let  us  take  an  illustration  suggested  by  one  of  Pro- 
fessor Oersted's  beautiful  dialogues,  in  his  work   entitled 
The  Soul  in  Nature.     Suppose  you  are  revisiting  a  charm- 
ing waterfall  which  you  had  seen  and  admired  the  previous 
summer.     The  scene  that  your  senses  actually  gaze  upon  is 
precisely  the  same  as  it  was  before;  there  is  the  stream 
rolling  over  its  ridge  of  rock ;  there  are  the  hues  of  the 
suns4e  playing  upon  it,  the  spray  throwing  its   almost 
invisible  mist  over  the  surface,  the  green  leaves,  the  flowers 
the  shadows  of  the  trees,  and  the  roar  of  the  cataract.     And 
vet  when  you  interpret  the  scene  which  the  senses  reveal 
by  Vour  inward  reason,  you  know  that  not  one  particle  of 
what  we  term  the  actual,  material  reality  that  before  met 
vour  eye  is  now  left,-the  water  has  flowed  to  the  ocean, 
ihe  sunshine  renews  itself  every  instant,  verdant  nature  has 
died  away  and  reproduced  itself,-nay,  if  we  could  only 
understand  the  secret  physiology  at  work  through  every 
atom  of  its  organic  structure,  you  would  see  that  its  very 
exbtence  is  a  constant  process  of  life  and  death  and  never 
fo   one  instant  a  fixed  existence.     Well,  then,  what  do  you 
reaUy  see  when  you  stand  and  contemplate   the   scene? 
You  simply  see  the  complex  result  of  a  number  of  natural  laws 
—laws  which  form  the  interior  essence  of  nature  herself,  and 


'1 


I04 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


are  but  the  outward  expressions  of  the  infinite  thought  from 
which  it  came.  Which  then  shall  we  say  is  the  reality  ? — the 
mere  phenomenon  which  the  senses  reveal,  or  the  laws 
which  produce  that  phenomenon,  and  which  are  accessible 
only  to  the  grasp  of  reason  ?  Clearly  the  latter ;  for  that 
alone  is  the  abiding  truth,  while  the  other  is  a  mere  outward 
appearance  that  passes  away  and  anon  renews  itself. 

If  our  readers  have  followed  the  spirit  of  this  illustration, 
they  will  probably  find  but  little  difficulty  in  understanding 
Hegel's  fundamental  point  of  view,  which  regards  all  existence 
as  consisting  in  a  process  eternally  going  forward,  a  per- 
petual position  and  negation,  a  constant  coming  into 
being  and  passing  out  of  being,  an  unceasing  struggle 
between  life  and  death.  But  then,  how  must  we  systematize 
this  conception  of  the  universe  ?  how  must  we  reduce  it  to 
one  intelligible  principle,  that  can  explain,  by  its  direct 
application,  all  the  phenomena  of  mind,  of  nature,  and  of 
human  life  ?  This  is  the  task  which  Hegel  set  himself  to 
accomplish  in  his  logic  and  its  subsequent  applications. 

If  all  existence  be  a  process,  then  we  must  admit,  as  a 
necessary  consequence,  that  the  law  of  this  process  is  the 
abiding  reality,  a  reality  which  merely  reveals  itself  in 
phenomena.  But  what  is  a  law  but  a  thought  or  purpose 
actualized  and  sent  upon  its  mission  in  the  world  ?  Thought 
and  existence,  accordingly,  are  essentially  the  same,  and  the 
laws  of  thought,  if  rightly  understood,  must  be  identical 
with  the  laws  of  being.  Hence,  to  investigate  the  laws  of 
thought  is  the  same  thing  as  to  investigate  the  laws  of 
existence ;  logic  and  metaphysics  fall  together  as  one  and 
the  same  science,  and,  combined,  give  us  a  fundamental 
department  of  philosophy,  in  which  we  can  study,  at  one 
and  the  same  time,  the  forms  of  all  thinking  and  of  all 
being  in  the  universe  around  us. 

From  the  study  of  thought  in  itself,  i.e.  in  its  fundamental 
forms  and  processes  (to  which  correspond  the  fundamental 
forms  of  existence),  we  can  then  ascend  to  thought  in  its 
manifestation — thought  embodying  itself  in  the  laws  and 
the  products  of  nature;  and  finally,  we  can  see  thought 
returning  to  itself,  and  coming  to  self-consciousness  in 
humanity.     In   this  way  we  shall   have  all  the  regions   of 


'German  Philosophy  in  Nitieteenth  Century.    105 

philosophic  investigation  bound  together  in  a  grand  unity, 
and  reduced  to  perfect  order  and  harmony  by  the  regular 
process  of  one  vast  logical  development. 

It  only  remains  for  us,  then,  to  see  what  is  this  logical,  or, 
as  it  is  more  commonly  termed,  this  dialectical  method,  the 
knowledge  of  which  is  to  reveal  the  great  pulsations  by 
which   the   life  of  the  universe  is  carried  forward.      The 
science  of  logic,  from  the  time  of  Aristotle  downwards,  has 
expounded  more  or  less  clearly  the  real  abstract  processes 
of  thought ;  and  to  this  science,  therefore,  we  must  look 
now  to  reveal   its   more   universal   laws.      Logic,  in   the 
Scholastic  sense,  falls   into  three   parts— the   doctrine   of 
simple  apprehension,  or  Ideas ;   of  judgment,  or  the  Pro- 
position ;  of  reasoning,  or  the  Syllogism.     In  an  idea  we 
have  simply  an  undivided  thought ;   in  the  proposition  we 
see  this  thought  separating  itself  into  two  portions,  the 
subject  and  the  predicate ;  in  the  syllogism  we  see  the  parts 
which  had  been  divided  combining  together  again  mto  a 
new   conclusion,  or  a  higher  unity.     This  process  Hegel 
accepts  as  being  virtually  the  law  of  all  thought,  which,  he 
shows,  must   consist   uniformly  of  a  separation   into  two 
opposites,  and  a  reconstruction  of  them  into  a  higher  and 
more  advanced  conclusion.     Thus  we  can  form  no  definite 
conception  of  the  infinite   without  putting  it  in  contrast 
with  the  finite — no  idea  of  cause  without  effect,  or  of  the 
living  body  without  the  soul.     Or  take  again  the  idea  of 
being /^r  5^,  and  consider  what  it  involves.     The  moment 
you  begin  to  apply  the  power  of  thought  to  its  analysis,  you 
find  that  the  whole  conception  you  can  form  of  it  is  the 
negation  of  all  determining  attributes.    This  idea,  accordingly, 
like  all  others,  divides  itself  into  two  opposites— being  on 
the  one  side,  and  negation  on  the  other ;  and  it  is  only 
when  you  take  these  two  parts  into  account,  and  put  them 
side  by  side,  that  you  can  listen,  as  it  were,  with  the  ear  of 
reason  to  the  process  by  which  thought  passes  over  from 
nothing  into  the  first  and  barest  conception  of  existence. 
Beginning  then  with  bare  existence,  Hegel  has  shown  in  his 
logic  how  thought  rolls  onwards  in  its  course  by  this  triple 
dialectic  process,  gaining  one  category  after  another,  until 
it  has  deduced  the  forms  of  all  existence,  of  all  the  pheno- 


io6 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


mena  in  nature,  and  finally,  of  all   life  and  intelligence 
itself. 

Having  once  got,  therefore,  the  great  law  of  thought, 
which,  as  we  have  before  seen,  is  identical  with  the  law  of 
being,  we  have  but  to  apply  it  to  the  various  departments 
of  psychology,  morals,  jurisprudence,  aesthetics,  religion, 
philosophy  of  history,  etc.,  to  solve  all  the  great  questions 
of  human  interest,  and  build  up  our  knowledge  into  one 
vast  scientific  system. 

What  Hegel  really  did  in  taking  the  syllogistic  logic  as 
revealing  the  absolute  laws  of  thought,  is,  in  fact,  a  virtual 
falling  back  upon  Scholastic  authority.  He  began  by 
viewing,  as  Kant  did,  the  proposition  as  the  absolute  form 
of  all  truth,  and  then,  perceiving  that  the  subject  and  predi- 
cate vary  indefinitely,  while  the  copula  remains  the  same, 
he  elevated  the  copula  itself  (/>.  the  relation  between 
objects)  to  the  highest  principle  of  philosophy,  and  made 
all  truth  and  all  reality  to  consist  in  the  laws  of  that  rela- 
tionship instead  of  the  objects  to  which  they  apply.  This 
part  of  his  philosophic  system,  to  say  the  least,  comes  very 
near  to  a  play  upon  ivords. 

The  ingenuity  and  deep  insight  with  which  Hegel  applied 
his  logic  to  the  various  questions  of  human  interest, — the 
profound  glimpses  he  gave  into  the  nature  of  psychology, 
the  theory  of  morals,  the  principles  of  jurisprudence,  the 
philosophy  of  art,  and  more  than  all,  the  development  of 
human  history, — tended,  however,  greatly  to  maintain  the 
credit  of  his  system  among  his  first  disciples.  Still,  if  we 
would  comprehend  the  real  causes  of  its  rapid  extension, 
we  must  take  a  variety  of  collateral  circumstances  into 
account,  some  of  which  it  may  be  desirable  for  us  to  glance 
at  as  we  pass. 

First,  then,  we  must  remember  that  from  the  time  of 
Kant  downwards,  it  had  become  almost  a  necessity  of  the 
German  mind  to  have  scientific  knowledge  presented  in  a 
systematic  form.  The  struggle  of  the  German  people  for 
national  independence  had  indeed  broken  in  for  a  time 
upon  the  steady  progress  of  speculation,  but  now,  just  as 
that  struggle  was  over,  here  was  a  philosophic  structure 
ready  at  hand,  perfectly  symmetrical  in  form,  and  which 


Gerinan  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Cetttury.    107 

exactly  answered  to  the  requirements  of  the  age.  Calm, 
logical,  unexciting,  wholly  architectonic  in  its  form,  it 
seemed  to  afford  that  repose  to  the  mind  which  was 
absolutely  needed  after  the  mighty  storm  through  which  it 
had  passed.  As  Fichte's  was  the  philosophy  suitable  for  a 
period  of  struggle,  so  Hegel's,  in  its  original  form,  was 
equally  the  philosophy  suited  for  a  period  of  rest,  and  owed, 
undoubtedly,  a  considerable  portion  of  its  early  celebrity  to 

this  fact 

Again,  there  were  more  direct  political  causes,  which 
favoured  its  expansion.  The  Prussian  king,  Frederick 
William  in.,  had  formed,  and  was  anxious  to  carry  out,  a 
state  plan  for  uniting  the  whole  Protestant  church  within 
his  dominions  under  one  banner ;  and  he  looked  with  very 
decided  complacency  upon  the  Hegelian  doctrines  as  tend- 
ing to  allay  the  petty  differences  which  existed  between 
communities,  and  to  unite  them  upon  one  broad  philosophic 
basis.  His  prime  minister,  Altenstein,  was  himself  a  zealous 
disciple  of  Fichte,  and  as  such  conceived  that  a  philosophi- 
cal interpretation  of  church  life.  Christian  dogma,  and  state 
policy  was  decidedly  advantageous  in  itself,  and  highly 
conducive  to  the  political  and  religious  interests  of  the 
community.  Hegelism,  accordingly,  basked  at  Berlin,  as 
well  as  at  the  other  Prussian  Universities,  in  the  sunshine 
of  court  favour,  and  ascended  the  chairs  of  public  instruc- 
tion with  a  kind  of  royal  authority  enstamped  upon  it. 

This  golden  age,  however,  soon  passed  away ;  the  royal 
patron  paid  the  debt  of  nature,  and  another  sovereign 
ascended  the  throne.  Almost  simultaneously  with  this 
event,  the  stifled  murmurs  of  political  discontent  began  to 
make  themselves  heard;  and  the  demand  for  a  popular 
constitution,  which  had  been  faithfully  promised  dunng  the 
national  struggle,  but  unfaithfully  deferred,  now  gradually 
gained  a  stronger  and  more  decided  voice  among  the 
people.  The  philosophic  spirit  which  had  speculated  at  its 
leisure,  and  pictured  the  most  enchanting  visions  of  freedom 
upon  paper,  began  gradually  to  sink  into  the  minds  of  the 
people  at  large,  and  to  embody  itself  in  a  more  practical 
form.  Speculatively  speaking,  freedom  had  been  asserted 
and  recognised  by  ever>^  philosopher,  fi-om  Kant  downwards. 


io8 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


The  reason  was  proved  to  be  free ;  the  will  was  declared 
equally  so  ;  society  was  shown  to  be  a  combination  of  free 
agents,  united  for  the  fuller  development  of  their  own 
nature,  while  government  was  but  the  actualized  expression 
of  the  national  will.  These  kinds  of  theories  had  a  hundred 
times  been  expounded  with  infinite  care,  and  illustrated 
with  all  the  apparatus  of  logical  diagrams.  So  long  as  they 
were  confined  to  the  lecture  room,  they  naturally  occasioned 
no  uneasiness  ;  but  as  soon  as  they  descended  amongst  the 
people,  and  threatened  to  become  really  practical,  it  was 
seen  that  they  stood  in  very  obvious  antagonism  to  the 
policy  of  every  absolute  or  even  semi-absolute  government. 
Hegelism,  being  the  most  recent,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
most  perfect,  expression  of  the  speculative  spirit  of  the  age, 
thus  began  to  be  identified  with  the  cause  of  popular 
political  liberty ;  while  the  opponents  of  this  philosophy, 
both  in  church  and  state,  were  looked  upon  more  or 
less  as  the  allies  of  absolutism  and  the  foes  of  German 
freedom. 

To  understand  the  progress  of  events  more  accurately, 
we  must  refer  briefly  to  the  splitting  up  of  the  Hegelian 
school  into  several  almost  antagonistic  parties,  which  now 
took  place.  Soon  after  Hegel's  death,  a  contest  arose 
among  his  followers  as  to  how  they  should  interpret  his 
views  respecting  the  divine  personality,  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  and  the  fundamental  ideas  of  Christianity — a 
contest  which  soon  separated  the  entire  school  into  three 
distinct  sections.  The  watchword  of  these  parties,  specu- 
latively speaking,  was  taken  from  the  theory  they  severally 
maintained  on  the  question  of  immanetice  and  transcendence. 
The  term  immanence,  we  must  explain,  implies  the  unity 
of  the  intelligent  principle  in  creation  with  the  creation 
itself,  and  of  course  includes  in  it  every  genuine  form  of 
pantheism.  The  term  transcendence  implies  the  existence 
of  a  separate  divine  intelligence,  and  of  another  and  spiritual 
state  of  being,  intended  to  perfectionate  our  own.  There 
were  many  earnest  thinkers  in  Germany,  who,  while  they 
admired  the  Hegelian  method  as  a  wonderful  development 
of  the  logical  forms  of  thought,  yet  deplored  the  twilight  in 
which   Hegel  had  left  all  the  great  questions  relating  to 


f 


German  Philosophy  ifi  Nineteenth  Century,    109 

religion,  to  God,  and  to  immortality.  These,  accordingly, 
formed  a  school  at  the  extreme  right,  as  it  was  termed, 
which,  while  it  availed  itself  freely  of  the  Hegelian  logic, 
uttered  its  voice  strongly  in  favour  of  the  divine  personality, 
the  existence  of  a  spiritual  world,  and  the  necessity  of  a 
positive  Christian  faith  for  the  peace  and  progress  of  the 
human  mind.  This  point  of  view  was  represented  by 
Goschel,  Gabler,  and  some  few  others  of  theological  pro- 
clivities. 

The  party  which  stands  next  on  the  Hegelian  scale,  was 
composed  chiefly  of  the  personal  friends  and  pupils  of 
Hegel  himself,  and  who,  therefore,  regarded  themselves  as 
forming  the  centre  or  middle  point  between  all  the  other 
divergences.  The  aim  of  this  party  was  to  hold  exactly 
that  indefinite  position  which  the  master  himself  always 
maintained  in  reference  to  the  question  of  immanence  and 
transcendence.  That  the  divine  essence  is  immanent  in 
the  world  they  appear  pretty  plainly  to  maintain,  but  only 
in  the  entire  consciousness  of  humanity,  in  which  and 
through  which  the  whole  intelligence  of  the  universe  attains 
its  free  and  reflective  form.  Thus,  quoad  the  individual, 
there  still  exists  a  transcendence — i.e.  an  infinite  reason 
beyond  our  own,  and  a  possible  futurity ;  although,  quoad 
the  universe^  the  immanence  of  the  divine  life  and  reason 
they  consider  must  be  firmly  maintained.  The  most  pro- 
minent representatives  of  this  phase  of  the  question  were 
Marheineke,  Michelet,  and  Rosenkranz. 

Of  the  three  parties  to  which  we  are  now  referring,  the 
last,  or  young  Hegelian,  was  undoubtedly  the  most  ener- 
getic as  well  as  daring — nay,  the  only  one  which  formed  a 
distinct  school  of  thought  that  exerted  a  popular  influence 
upon  the  German  people  at  large.  Amongst  them  the 
doctrine  of  transcendence  was  finally  abandoned,  God  and 
the  world  became  identical  terms,  and  pantheism  drew 
itself  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  atheistic  side  of  the  question. 
The  contest  which  arose  among  the  followers  of  Hegel 
turned,  as  already  noticed,  upon  the  theological  bearings  of 
his  philosophy.  While  various  of  his  disciples  were  develop- 
ing the  master's  views  on  the  side  of  law,  morals,  aesthetics, 
history,  nature,  and  psychology,  according  to  their  respec- 


no 


P hilosophical  Fragments, 


tive  leanings  to  one  or  other  of  these  branches  of  inquiry, 
the  theological  question  gathered  around  it  an  amount  of 
popular  and  practical  interest  which  made  it  the  great 
battle-field  for  the  entire  speculative  spirit  of  the  age. 

Strauss  was  the  first  who  stepped  clearly  out  of  the  cloud 
in  which  the  Hegelian  philosophy  had  enveloped  religious 
questions,  and  pronounced  clearly  his  dissent  from  the 
historical  truth  of  the  Evangelical  narratives.  That  there 
is  some  basis  of  historical  truth  at  the  bottom,  he  allowed  ; 
but  then  he  endeavoured  to  show,  that  just  as  in  all  other 
great  developments  of  thought,  so  in  the  rise  of  Christianity, 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  early  converts  erected  spontaneously, 
upon  a  small  groundwork  of  fact,  a  large  superstructure  of 
religious  mythology,  by  translating  their  wishes,  hopes, 
aspirations,  and  ideas  into  the  language  of  historical  reality. 

This  view  of  the  gospel  narratives,  it  is  evident,  draws 
the  whole  contest  between  Christianity  and  unbelief  into  a 
new  point  of  view,  and  brings  fresh  weapons  to  bear  on 
each  side  of  the  question.  The  old  English  deists,  unskilled 
in  historical  criticism,  and  living,  as  they  did,  before  any 
researches  into  the  genesis  of  historical  ideas  had  been 
instituted,  admitted  as  wholly  beyond  question  the  historical 
authenticity  of  the  whole  of  the  sacred  books ;  but  as  on 
rational  grounds  they  rejected  their  contents,  they  were 
constrained  by  the  very  logical  position  they  occupied  to 
place  the  sacred  writers  themselves  in  the  light  of  hypocrites 
and  deceivers.  Over  this  polemic  Christianity  gained  an 
easy  victory.  The  transparent  honesty,  the  intense  earnest- 
ness, the  high  moral  grandeur,  of  the  first  Christian  teachers, 
crushed  under  its  subduing  power  every  attempt  to  aim 
a  blow  either  at  their  moral  principles  or  motives. 

The  German  rationalistic  school,  which  followed  (ra- 
tionalismus  vulgaris)^  planted  itself  on  quite  another  basis ; 
it  began  by  admitting  the  historical  authenticity  of  most  of 
the  sacred  books,  and  also  the  purity  and  integrity  of  the 
writers,  but  endeavoured  to  show  that  what  was  written  in 
an  age  of  wonder,  and  under  circumstances  of  intense 
enthusiasm,  must  be  accommodated  to  our  more  cool  and 
rational  method  of  judgment.  Under  this  notion,  they 
gave  us  a  new  version  of  the  Scripture  miracles,  stripped  by 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century, 


I J I 


the  hand  of  criticism  of  all  their  supernatural  dress.     Thus 
the  moral  idea  and  the  religious  elevation  remained,  while 
the  miracle  and  the  wonder  softened  down   into   events 
perfectly  explicable,  in  the  present  day,  by  the  ordinary  laws 
of  nature.     This  system  of  what  is  commonly  called  anti- 
supernaturalism    had    also    its   little    day;    the   farther   it 
proceeded,  however,  the  more  it  became  entangled  amongst 
those  obstinate  assertions  of  miracle  which  proved  to  be  so 
interwoven  with  the  sacred  narratives  as  only  to  be  drawn 
out  by  plucking  every  thread  of  the  entire  texture  to  pieces. 
It  was  just  at  this  time  that  the  researches  of  Otfried 
Miiller  and   others   began  to  throw  new  light  upon  the 
philosophy  of  history,  and  more  especially  upon  the  early 
mythology  of  nations  and  the  rise  of  great  national  ideas. 
Miiller's  great  principle  was,  that  those  myths  which  always 
penetrate  a  nation's  early  life  are  never  the  production  of 
an  individual  mind,  but  rest  upon  the  higher  and   more 
general  foundation  of  the  entire  spirit  of  the  people ;  that 
they  are,  in  fact,  allegorical  expressions  which  have  grown 
up  in  the  life  of  the  nation,  of  their  inward  sentiments, 
aspirations,  or  beliefs.     Several  writers  previous  to  Strauss 
(Bauer,  De  Wette,  and  others)  had  shown  the  applicability 
of  this  principle  to  some  of  the  early  records  preserved  in 
the  Old  Testament ;  but  it  was  left  for  him  to  found  upon 
it  an  entire  theory  respecting  the  basis  of  early  Christianity. 
Taking  into  account  the  old  Hebrew  Messianic  belief;  the 
wants  and  aspirations  of  the  age ;  the  restlessness   with 
which  men  looked  from  the  political  troubles  and  popular 
vice  of  that  period  for  a  purer  and  diviner  life ;  the  power 
with  which  they  were  driven  back,  by  the  breaking  up  both 
of  the  Jewish  and  the  heathen  traditions,  upon  the  primary 
elements  of  our  moral  nature  and  our  fundamental  human 
hopes— all  this,  he  aftirmed,  borne  upon  the  tide  of  an 
intense   enthusiasm,   was   sure   to   express   itself  in   some 
concrete  and  apparently  historical  form.     The  real  life  and 
character  of  Christ,  accordingly,  gave  the  historical  basis 
for  the  structure  ;   the  hopes  of  the  Eastern  world  then 
gathered  gradually  around  it;  the  facts  and  traditions  in 
which  the  Christian  churches  commenced  were  the  centre 
around  which  the  thought  of  the  times  crystallized ;  and 


I  12 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


thus  the  whole  edifice  of  the  Christian  faith  grew  up  as  the 
natural  production  of  an  age  unexampled  for  the  intensity 
with  which  man  was  thrown  back  upon  the  great  problem 
of  his  nature  and  destiny.  According  to  Strauss,  therefore, 
the  historical  Christ  became  gradually  a  kind  of  type  of 
humanity;  and  his  final  apotheosis  expressed  the  longed- 
for  apotheosis  of  man  himself — the  union  of  the  divine  with 
the  human  in  the  life  and  consciousness  of  humanity  at 
large.  Few,  perhaps,  would  now  contend  that  this  mythical 
theory  of  Strauss  can  stand  its  ground  entire  against  all  the 
force  of  that  new  historical  criticism,  which  it  has  aroused 
to  so  large  an  extent,  that  we  begin  already  to  speak  of  the 
Leben  Jesu  literature  as  one  of  the  great  phenomena  of  the 
times.  None,  however,  who  are  well  read  in  that  literature, 
can  now  accept  as  secure  the  old  defences  which  were 
thrown  up  against  the  former  deistic  controversialists. 
The  entire  polemic  between  Christianity  and  unbelief  is 
carried  up  into  a  higher  arena,  where  a  keen  historical 
research  into  the  rise  and  growth  of  ideas  and  dogmas  bears 
down  from  time  to  time,  with  destructive  energy,  upon  both 
hosts  of  combatants.  If,  on  the  one  side,  it  cuts  the  ground 
from  under  the  feet  of  the  Straussian  school,  it  only  does 
so  \iy  vastly  enlarging  the  basis  upon  which  the  pillars  of 
Christianity  rest.  In  this  way  the  Straussian  controversy 
has  really  marked  an  era  in  European  thought ;  it  laid  the 
basis  for  that  vast  secession  from  the  Catholic  Church  in 
Germany  which  the  fable  of  the  holy  coat  put  into  operation  ; 
it  has  shaken  the  old  system  of  verbal  literalism  even  in 
countries  where  that  system  maintained  its  stronghold  for 
ages  before;  it  has  rendered  a  more  free  and  spiritual 
interpretation  of  Christian  ideas  a  necessity  of  the  age, 
which  only  the  blindest  of  the  blind  refuse  to  admit ;  it  has 
made  most  of  the  old  doctrinal  disputes  which  rent  the 
church  and  the  world  seem  like  so  much  solemn  trifling, 
and  has  thrown  us  all  alike  back  upon  the  essential  elements 
of  the  Christian  life  as  the  only  thing  for  which  it  is  worth 
our  while  to  labour  and  contend. 

Strauss,  then,  we  may  term  the  negative  and  critical 
spirit  of  the  school ;  in  him  the  Hegelian  philosophy  came 
first  to  an  open  rupture  with  orthodox  Christianity.     Feuer- 


Germa7i  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century,    1 1 3 

bach,  the  next  in  the  order  of  development,  leaving  the 
path  of  negative  criticism,  took  up  the  question  of  th( 
essence  and  genesis  of  religion  as  a  universal  fact  of  humaii 
nature.  Religion,  according  to  him,  is  a  man's  relation  to 
his  own  essential  humanity.  The  consciousness  of  God  is 
really  the  self-consciousness  of  man.  The  divine  nature  is 
no  other  than  human  nature  idealized  and  personified. 
The  conception  we  form  of  humanity,  with  all  its  powers 
and  faculties,  its  aspirations  and  its  destiny,  is  projected,  as 
it  were,  upon  the  spread-out  cloud  of  our  phantasy,  and 
regarded  apart  as  a  supreme  and  infinite  personality. 
Worship,  accordingly,  is  /^^— love  to  humanity;  to  love 
God  is  to  love  the  nature  of  man ;  to  serve  God  is  to  serve 
the  true  interests  of  man,  by  bringing  him  ever  nearer  and 
nearer  to  his  true  ideal.  Feuerbach  thus  exactly  inverted  the 
original  process  of  speculation.  The  German  idealism 
began  by  affirming  the  absolute,  and  then  strove  to  deduce 
from  it  all  the  phenomena  of  existence  in  regular  logical 
order.  Feuerbach  accepted  the  individual  man,  with  his 
senses  and  instincts,  his  faculties  and  emotions,  as  the  real 
and  the  true,  par  excellence;  and  from  this  as  his  absolute,  he 
deduced  the  nature  of  religion  and  the  God  of  religious 
worship. 

It  can  hardly  fail  to  strike  the  philosophic  reader  that 
the  system  of  Feuerbach  well-nigh  completes  the  cycle  of 
speculation,  and  lands  us  again  very  near  the  point  of  view 
from  which  it  started  as  a  popular  system  during  the  French 
Revolution — I  mean  the  system  of  pure  sensualism  in  which 
man  and  his  personal  enjoyments  become  the  Alpha  and 
the  Omega  of  all  human  interest.  Although  Feuerbach 
himself  still  remained  standing  on  the  loftier  platform  of 
humanity  in  its  ideal,  yet  it  needs  but  one  step  (a  step 
which  has  been  already  taken  by  some  of  his  disciples)  to 
bring  this  ideal  down  again  to  the  real,  and  to  make  ^^«j^ 
once  more  the  sole  God  of  man's  worship  and  admiration. 

As  logical  combatants,  these  daring  spirits  have  certainly 
shown  themselves  formidable  to  those  who  enter  with  them 
into  the  arena  of  abstract  disputation ;  still  it  cannot  but 
strike  a  calm  looker-on  with  something  like  wonder,  how 
the  most  obvious  and  startling  objections  are  lost  sight  of 

H 


114 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century.     1 1 5 


in  the  heat  of  metaphysical  disquisition.  Starting  from  the 
subjective  side,  and  analyzing  simply  the  processes  of 
human  thought,  it  may  be  easy  for  them  to  construe  the 
great  idea  of  God  in  many  different  forms.  From  a  divine 
personality  they  may  show  that  it  is  a  very  easy  transition 
to  make  the  absolute  coincident  with  the  soul  of  nature^  which 
having  passed  through  the  various  stages  of  unconsciousness, 
comes  at  length  in  man  to  a  self-conscious  existence.  It 
may  then  be  easy  enough  to  show,  with  another  stroke  of 
the  logical  wand,  that  the  divine  consciousness  is  nothing 
else  than  the  ideal  of  humanity ;  that  the  reason  of  man, 
therefore,  is  the  highest  reason  in  the  universe,  and  the  will 
of  man  the  supreme  power. 

But  now  let  us  wake  the  logician  out  of  his  dream  of 
ideas,  and  place  his  divinity  face  to  face  with  the  standing 
wonder  of  creation.  Surely  creation  must  be  the  work  of 
the  highest  reason,  and  the  effort  of  the  supreme  will.  If 
this  reason  and  this  will,  supreme  knowledge  and  supreme 
productivity,  be  really  concentrated  in  the  human  conscious- 
ness, then  we  say  to  this  divine  humanity,  '  Carry  on  the  work 
of  creation^  or  at  least  explain  to  us  its  inmost  secrets.  Show 
us  the  point  in  the  history  of  man's  reason  and  will  where 
human  power  can  create  one  little  flower  of  the  field.  If 
the  consciousness  of  man  can  neither  create  nor  comprehend 
the  wonders  of  what  is  created^  then  let  it  bow  in  submission 
before  the  infinite  power  and  productivity  which  holds  all 
things  within  its  grasp,  and  by  transcending  our  highest 
thoughts  shows  that  we  are  creatures  and  not  creators,  and 
that  our  reason  is  but  a  spark  from  the  infinite  reason  above 
us.'  Such  a  solution  of  the  great  world  problem  as  this 
philosophy  affords  may  satisfy  a  mere  dialectician  \  but  it 
will  never  satisfy  the  wants  of  the  human  soul  in  the  midst 
of  its  hopes  and  fears,  nor  of  the  human  reason  either,  when 
it  once  breaks  through  the  circle  of  a  logical  system  and 
roams  at  large  over  the  standing  wonders  of  the  universe. 

In  Arnold  Ruge  the  spirit  of  German  speculation  has 
come  out  of  its  abstract  and  dialectical  form,  and  addressed 
itself  at  length  to  the  attainment  of  practical  ends.  Re- 
ligion, according  to  Ruge,  is  the  natural  impulse  of  the 
human  soul  after  the  ideal ;  it  is  man's  effort  to  realize  the 


highest  perfection  and  the  highest  freedom  under  all  the 
different  forms  in  which  they  can  be  attained.  The  three 
great  fields  of  human  effort  are  knowledge,  art,  and  practice ; 
and  the  true  function  of  the  religion  of  humanity  is  to  give 
the  utmost  freedom  to  man  in  the  prosecution  of  all  that 
is  comprehended  in  these  great  ends. 
.  It  will  easily  be  seen  how  direct  the  bearing  of  this 
philosophy  must  be  upon  the  political  agitations  of  the  age. 
Man  is  bound  by  all  that  is  sacred  in  his  religion  not  to  lie 
down  patiently  under  oppression,  and  look  for  his  bliss  in  a 
future  state  only.  The  world  is  the  real  sphere  of  humanity ; 
and  everything  which  conduces  to  the  perfection  of  man's 
nature  in  society,  must  be  pursued  in  spite  of  all  the  opposi- 
tion we  may  encounter  in  the  path.  Humanism,  then,  is 
at  once  the  religion  and  the  philosophy  of  the  age  ;  for  all 
the  aspirations  of  the  one,  and  all  the  conclusions  of 
the  other,  centre  in  humanity  as  their  great  end,  and 
proclaim  the  highest  culture  and  freedom  of  hunianity  to 
be  the  purpose  for  which  we  have  unceasingly  to  strive. 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  final  conclusion  at  which  the 
Hegelian  philosophy,  in  its  latest  form,  arrived.  The 
Revolution  of  1848  marks  the  termination  of  its  efforts. 
Strauss  and  Feuerbach  remained  in  Germany,  shielded  by 
the  abstract  form  of  their  philosophy  from  the  hand  of 
political  persecution  ;  Ruge  paid  the  penalty  of  his  practical 
tendencies  in  confiscation  and  exile. 

The  outcome  of  this  last  school  of  German  thought 
illustrates  the  tendency  which  one  extreme  always  has  to 
generate  another.  The  philosophy  of  Fichte  was,  no  doubt, 
an  extreme — an  extreme  which  maintained  pure  idealism  on 
the  side  of  ontology,  a  rigid  morality  on  the  side  of  ethics, 
lofty  aspiration  on  the  side  of  religion.  But  the  logical 
process  goes  on  unrestrained  by  tradition  or  common  sense  ; 
and  in  one  generation  what  do  we  find  as  the  result  ?  That 
religion  becomes  simply  the  worship  of  human  nature ;  that 
morals  become  unmitigated  caprice  and  selfishness ;  and 
that  ontology  becomes  undisguised  materialism.  Buchner, 
Vogt,  and  Moleschott  are  the  final  issue  of  a  system  of 
speculation  which  began  in  making  '  tlie  vie'  the  first  prin- 
ciple and  basis  of  the  universe,  and  now  ends  in  making 


I    ! 


ii6 


Philosophical  Fragme7its, 


ti. 


that  universe  to  consist  wholly  in  matter  and  its  modifica- 
tions. 

B. — Realistic  Side. 

We  now  turn  from  the  idealistic  to  the  realistic  side  of 
the  question,  which  is  represented,  in  the  first  instance,  by 
John  Frederick  Herbart.  Herbart  was  born  in  1776  at 
Oldenburg,  and  even  in  early  life  showed  signs  of  great 
mental  capacity.  He  studied  at  Jena,  where  he  attended 
the  lectures  of  Fichte,  at  that  time  in  the  height  of  his 
renown  as  a  philosopher.  But  far  from  being  carried  away 
by  the  tide  of  idealism,  then  just  beginning  to  rise,  he  openly 
expressed  his  dissatisfaction  even  to  Fichte  himself,  who 
attempted,  perhaps  for  a  short  time  successfully,  to  combat 
the  objections  he  had  to  offer.  In  1805  he  became  pro- 
fessor of  philosophy  at  Gottingen,  and  in  1808  succeeded 
to  the  chair  of  Kant  at  Konigsberg.  Here  he  laboured  for 
twenty-five  years,  raising  his  voice,  not  without  effect,  against 
the  rampant  idealism  which  seemed  to  him  to  be  running 
away  with  the  speculative  brain  of  his  country. 

Herbart  takes  his  start  from  the  realistic  side  of  the 
Kantian  philosophy.  His  primary  axiom  is,  that  all  our 
knowledge  begins  in  and  is  grounded  on  experience.  In- 
stead of  assuming  the  existence  of  some  absolute  being  as 
the  first  principle  of  all  things,  he  regarded  the  whole  mass 
of  our  ordinary  perceptions  as  containing  the  matter  from 
which  alone  we  must  take  our  departure  in  building  up  a 
system  of  philosophy.  That  we  do  actually  possess  a  mass 
of  notions  and  ideas  which  are  naturally  formed  in  the  mind 
by  its  own  constitution,  and  the  circumstances  in  which  it 
is  placed,  none  can  deny.  These  ideas,  he  shows,  we  must 
detain,  examine,  elaborate,  so  as  to  solve  any  contradictions 
they  may  seem  to  imply,  and  thus  render  them  self-consis- 
tent one  with  the  other. 

The  process  by  which  the  necessity  of  philosophy  comes 
to  be  felt  is  this  : — Looking  around  upon  the  world  in  which 
we  live,  our  knowledge  commences,  first  of  all,  by  a  direct 
perception  of  the  various  objects  which  present  themselves 
on  every  hand.  What  we  really  and  immediately  perceive, 
however,  is  not  the  actual  things  themselves,  but  the  pheno- 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century,     1 1 7 

mena  arising  from  the  manner  in  which  they  affect  our  own 
minds  through  the  senses.     After  a  time,  indeed,  we  dis- 
cover that  many  of  these  phenomena  are  unreal,  i.e,  they 
do  not  portray  the  abiding  truth  of  things  as  they  really  are, 
and  if  assumed  as  true,  would  soon  land  us  in  errors  and 
contradictions.      For  example,  what   we  are  immediately 
conscious  of  in  coming  into  contact  with  the  external  world 
are  such  appearances  or  feelings  as  green,  blue,  bitter,  sour, 
extension,  resistance,  etc.     These  phenomena  we  discover, 
upon  reflection,  to  be  not  realities  external  to  ourselves,  but 
modes  in  which  our  own  minds  and  feelings  are  affected  by 
external  things.     Again,  if  we  ask  what  we  mean  by  external 
things,  we  discover  that  they  are  not  ultimate  essences,  but 
phenomena  consisting  of  a  number  of  elements,  revealed  by 
the  different  effects  they  produce  upon  ourselves.     What  we 
term  the  reality,  then,  is  not  the  thing  as  a  whole,  but  the 
elements  of  which  it  is  composed.     Thus,  the  further  we  ana- 
lyze, the  further  does  the  reality  recede  backwards ;  but  still 
it  must  be  somewhere,  otherwise,  when  perceiving,  we  should 
be  perceiving  a  nonentity.     Every  phenomenon  necessarily 
implies  a  reality ;  and  as  many  phenomena  as  there  are,  just 
so  many  realities  must  we  admit  to  exist.     Experience,  then, 
on  the  one  hand,  gives  us  a  vast  number  of  phenomena, 
which  appear  to  us  to  be  so  many  actually  existing  realities; 
reflection,  on  the  other  hand,  obliges  us  to  reject  these 
phenomena  as  ultimate  realities,  and  assign  some  simple 
element  for  the  basis  of  all,  and  as  that  which  alone  is 
essentially  real.     Here,  then,  arises  a  contradiction  between 
reason  and  experience ;  and  as  we  cannot  fall  back  upon 
scepticism  without  being  involved  in  still  greater  difficulty, 
we  look  to  philosophy  so  to  elaborate  and  interpret  our 
ideas — both  those  of  reason  and  experience— as  to  solve 
the  contradictions,  and  give  us  a  connected,  self-consistent 
view  of  the  truth  of  things.     This  branch  of  philosophy  is 
termed  metaphysics. 

Now,  in  order  to  see  what  branches  of  investigation  the 
science  of  metaphysics  contains,  we  have  only  to  consider 
how  many  fundamental  ideas  there  are  into  which  our  ordi- 
nary perceptions  may  be   ultimately  generalized.      These 
undamental  ideas,  according  to  Herbart,  are  i\iiQ&~-thing, 


ii8 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


matter^  mind ;  the  first  being  the  notion  of  a  unity  with 
various  properties;  the  second  being  that  of  an  object 
existing  in  space  ;  the  third  designating  that  which  has  self- 
consciousness  as  a  fundamental  attribute.  All  these  three 
fundamental  ideas  involve  contradictions.  Thus,  for  example, 
if  we  contemplate  a  things  say  a  piece  of  gold,  we  observe 
that  it  is  yellow,  heavy,  hard,  etc.,  and  all  these  properties 
together  go  to  make  up  the  unity  which  we  term  gold.  If 
one  of  these  properties  were  taken  away,  it  would  be  gold 
no  longer ;  and  if  they  were  all  taken  away,  nothing  what- 
ever would  remain  to  our  perceptions.  Here,  accordingly, 
we  come  to  a  contradiction^  viz.  that  the  unity  is  a  plurality, 
and  the  plurality  a  unity.  Again,  if  we  analyze  the  notion 
of  matter,  we  find  it  is  that  which  fills  a  certain  space,  while 
at  the  same  time  it  consists  of  atoms  infinitely  divisible^  and 
which  in  their  ultimate  form,  therefore,  can  fill  no  space  at 
all.  Hence  another  contradiction,  namely,  that  atoms, 
having  no  extension,  should  give  rise  to  extended,  soHd, 
space-filling  substance.  So  also,  in  our  idea  of  mind,  we 
have  the  contradiction  that  the  one  simple  ultimate  unit 
which  we  term  qmx  personality  should  be  subject  to  perpetual 
change.  These  three  ultimate  ideas,  giving  rise  each  to 
their  respective  contradictions,  demand  three  different  in- 
vestigations to  elucidate  and  reconcile  them.  The  first  is 
ontology^  which,  in  Herbart's  sense,  means  the  science  that 
treats  of  the  nature  and  constitution  of  bodies  in  general. 
The  second  is  synechology^  which  is  the  doctrine  of  matter, 
or  the  phenomena  of  the  real,  as  existing  in  time,  space, 
and  motion.  The  third  branch  is  eidolology^  which  means 
the  doctrine  of  images  or  ideas,  and  covers  the  whole  ground 
di  psychology. 

Herbart  treats  of  morals  and  natural  theology  on  their 
own  separate  grounds.  In  fact,  he  makes  no  attempt 
to  show  how  all  human  knowledge  can  be  presented  as  one 
unbroken  system^  or  to  find  any  fundamental  axiom  from 
which  it  can  be  deduced.  He  is  content  to  accept  the  data 
of  experience  as  he  finds  them,  and  then,  by  a  process  of 
analysis,  to  strip  them  of  all  difliculties  and  contradictions, 
and  mould  them  into  the  shape  of  consistent  human  know- 
ledge reflectively  verified. 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century,    1 19 

The  two  former  branches  of  Herbart's  metaphysics  do 
not  present  any  matter  of  special  interest,  and,  as  far  as  I 
know,  have  given  rise  to  no  subsequent  intellectual  move- 
ment'which  is  worth  recording.     Not  so  his  psychology. 
An  entire  school  of  psychology  has  sprung  up  in  Germany 
in  the  present  century  which  owes  its  origin  and  its  im- 
pulse to  Herbart's  speculations  in  this  department.      We 
must  therefore  mark  some  of  its  leading  characteristics  as 
possessing    a    distinct     historical    significance.       Herbart 
pursues  the  investigation  cl  mind  exactly  in  the  same  way 
as  he  has  done  that  of  material  objects.     He  does  not 
attempt  to    find  any  primary  substratum  called  the  soul, 
but  looks   simply  for  the  phenomena  of  the  case;    and 
wherever  he  finds  phenomena,  he  affirms  some  correspond- 
ing reality.     The  field  of  these  phenomena  is  the  conscious- 
ness.    What  aspect,  then,  does  the  consciousness  present? 
It   presents    a  constant   succession   of  images,   a   perfect 
phantasmagoria   of  ideas,  emotions,   desires,  which  come 
and  go,  we  know  not  how,  which  crowd  on  the   threshold 
of  the 'consciousness  and  strive  to  enter.      Some  appear 
and  vanish  away,  others  reappear  after  a  period  of  oblivion, 
and  all  alike  seem  to  be  subject  to  the  same  changes  and 
to  obey  some  invisible  laws.     This,  then,  is  the  sphere  of 
observation   which  has  to  be  investigated  and  explained. 
Now,  first  of  all,  we  observe  that  there  is  in  every  man  a 
direct  consciousness  of  self,  indicated  by  the  constant  use 
of  the  pronoun  I  or  me.     To  this  self  some  reality  must 
answer,  some  monad  which  is  the  primary  ground  of  self- 
consciousness.     But  this  primary  unit  of  self  is  undergoing 
perpetual   changes.      These   changes,   following  the  prin- 
ciples before  evolved  in  the  case  of  the  external  worid, 
must    arise    from    the    effects   produced   by  real   things 
external  to  itself.     In  fact,  the  self,  or  as  we  may  now  term 
it  the  mind,  is  acted  upon  by  all  the  objects  of  the  worid 
around  it.     The  consciousness  is  the  theatre  on  which  the 
conflict  between  self  and  nature  can  be  observed.     The 
objects  brought  home  to  the  mind  by  the  senses  affect  it, 
influence  it,  disturb  it,  and  then  a  reaction  sets  in,  which  is 
the  eff"ort  of  the  mind  to  maintain  its  place  against  all  these 
attacks  from  without     This  conflict  between    mmd  and 


120 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


nature  gives  rise  to  perceptions,  representations,  ideas.  If 
the  perceptions  are  unlike,  they  clash  against  each  other, — 
one  retains  its  place  in  the  consciousness,  and  the  other 
dips  down  into  temporary  unconsciousness,  until  recalled 
again  by  some  favourable  combination  of  mental  forces. 
If  the  perceptions  are  similar^  they  blend  together,  and  thus 
acquire  a  twofold  power  of  reproduction.  When  a  great 
number  of  like  ideas  are  blended  in  one,  they  give  rise  to 
general  notions,  and  form  concepts  which  govern  our 
powers  and  habits  of  thought.  Mental  images,  when  they 
come  clearly  into  the  light  of  consciousness,  and  accumulate 
a  great  number  of  individual  impressions,  all  blended 
together,  form,  as  we  said,  notions,  concepts,  abstract  ideas. 
When  they  strive  at  the  threshold  of  consciousness  for  re- 
admission,  a  tension  is  produced,  which  is  called  feeling, 
or  affection,  or  emotion,  as  the  case  may  be.  This  tension 
may  rise  to  the  height  of  desire,  and  desire  accompanied 
with  the  hope  of  fulfilment  gives  rise  to  volition. 

From  this  outline  it  will  be  seen  that  Herbart  rejects 
altogether  every  possible  system  of  psychology  which  pro- 
poses to  divide  our  mental  activity  into  a  certain  definite 
number  of  powers  or  faculties.  Every  single  mental  repre- 
sentation, every  feeling,  every  desire,  every  volition,  is  a 
po^ver ;  and  the  working  and  interworking  of  these  powers, 
he  considers,  can  be  explained  on  a  system  of  mental  statics 
and  dynamics  mathematically  carried  out,  which  reveals 
the  whole  play  of  the  phenomena  of  the  human  conscious- 
ness. That  he  has  thus  opened  up  a  fruitful  vein  of 
psychological  investigation  can  hardly  be  doubted.  The 
more  technical  part  of  his  system,  that  which  carries  out 
the  analogy  between  the  mathematical  principles  of  statics 
and  dynamics  and  the  striving  of  the  mental  powers  in  and 
out  of  consciousness,  has  already  well-nigh  passed  away 
from  the  field  of  psychological  investigation ;  but  the 
general  idea  lying  at  the  basis  of  the  system  has  given  rise 
to  some  of  the  most  fruitful  series  of  mental  investigations 
which  modern  Germany  has  yet  produced.  Beneke  first 
followed  in  the  track  thus  pointed  out.  His  system  is 
purely  empirical.  He  not  only  denies  innate  ideas,  but  also 
ignores  the  existence  of  any  original  faculties,  and  under- 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century,    1 2 1 

takes  to  show  not  merely  how  our  notions  are  formed,  but 
the  very  process  by  which  the  mental  faculties  are  con- 
structed out  of  the  original  elements  of  our  nature.  The 
human  mind  (which  he  regards  as  having  an  existence 
distinct  from  the  body)  exists  first  in  a  state  of  bare  recep- 
tivity. It  can  receive  impressions ;  but  it  also  has  an 
original  instinct  to  react  responsively  to  them.  This,  then, 
is  the  starting-point, — impression  and  instinct, — and  from 
these  two  the  whole  nature  of  the  soul,  intellectual  and 
moral,  is  evolved. 

Each  impression  we  receive  leaves  a  trace  {Spur)  behind 
it  which  may  be  revived  and  brought  again  into  conscious- 
ness under  the  proper  physical  conditions.  Day  by  day, 
then,  while  impressions  are  pouring  in  upon  us,  these  traces 
accumulate.  As  they  accumulate,  the  mind  becomes  more 
capable  of  understanding  them,  and  more  conversant  with 
the  outward  objects  from  which  they  have  been  produced, 
until  at  length,  by  the  result  of  this  process,  the  power  of 
perception  becomes  duly  developed,  and  we  call  it  a  mental 
faculty.  Thus,  then,  the  two  original  factors  in  our  mental 
development  are  outward  impulses  {Reize)  on  the  one 
side,  and  the  powers  of  inward  reaction  to  each  impulse 
( Urkrdfte)  on  the  other.  These  are  the  primary  elements 
of  our  whole  mental  activity  ;  and  from  this  commencement 
our  author  proposes  to  build  up  empirically  the  entire 
structure  of  the  mental  faculties.  As  to  the  different  modes 
of  mental  activity,  Beneke  derives  them  from  the  variable 
relation  in  which  the  primitive  power  stands  to  the  outward 
impulse.  If  the  impulse  is  less  intense  than  the  reaction, 
there  will  be  a  certain  amount  of  inward  effort  over  and 
above  what  is  necessary  to  meet  it.  In  this  case,  the 
mental  phenomenon  will  be  what  is  termed  volition.  If,  on 
the  contrary,  the  impulse  is  greater  than  the  reaction,  then 
the  mind  is  receptive,  and  we  have  the  phenomenon  of 
feeling  or  emotion.  If,  thirdly,  the  impulse  and  effort 
exactly  counterbalance  each  other,  the  result  will  be  a 
clearly-defined  image  which  we  term  a  perception. 

Beneke  goes  at  great  length  and  with  extreme  minuteness 
into  the  laws  by  which  mental  traces  are  reproduced  and 
combined.     When  a  number  of  perceptions  are  attracted  by 


ill 


122 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


virtue  of  their  similarity^  and  melt,  as  it  were,  into  one 
another,  they  give  rise  first  to  ordinary  notions,  and  then  to 
more  abstract  and  general  ideas.  \Vhen  combinations  take 
place  between  unlike  elements,  they  form  groups  or  series  of 
mental  images,  as  seen  in  the  developments  of  productive 
imagination  and  many  other  phenomena  connected  with 
the  association  of  ideas.  The  very  same  laws  of  combina- 
tion apply  with  like  force  to  the  active  powers  and  the 
emotions ;  so  that  by  these  means  we  can  trace  the  growth  of 
all  our  sentiments,  our  habits,  and  our  higher  principles  of 
action,  and  build  up,  in  a  word,  the  entire  spiritual  nature 
of  the  man.  This  whole  system  Beneke  applied  to  the 
practical  purposes  of  education,  and  even  instituted  a 
journal  in  order  to  disseminate  his  doctrines,  but  was 
suddenly  and  unhappily  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  his  labours. 
The  most  eminent  writers  who  have  followed  in  the  path 
thus  pointed  out  by  Herbart  and  Beneke,  are  Exner, 
Drobisch,  Waitz,  and  to  some  extent  Fortlage  and 
George;  and  even  where  psychological  investigation  has 
taken  another  course,  we  still  see  the  inevitable  traces  of 
this  school  upon  the  writers,  showing  that  it  has  produced 
a  lasting  effect  upon  the  philosophical  progress  of  the 
country.  In  the  two  latter  cases  we  see  the  tendency 
(already  apparent  in  our  own  country)  of  treating  mental 
phenomena  as  a  higher  branch  of  physiological  research, 
and  bringing  the  laws  of  life  and  growth  to  bear  upon  the 
right  comprehension  of  mind  in  all  its  phases.  This  is 
but  another  symptom  of  the  general  fact,  that  the  age  in 
which  we  live  has  become  averse  to  mere  abstract  speculation, 
and  demands  some  basis  in  actual  experience,  even  when 
indulging  in  the  highest  flights  of  scientific  generalization. 

C. — Attempts  to  mediate  between  Idealism  and 

Realism. 

We  have  seen  in  the  preceding  pages  the  extremes  into 
which  the  overwrought  speculation  of  Germany  was  running 
during  the  earlier  portion  of  the  present  century, — one  side 
making  'The  Me,'  or  *The  Absolute,'  or  *The  Dialectical 
Process,'  as  the  case  might  be,  the  first  principle  of  all 


German  Philosophy  in  Niiietecnth  Century,     1 23 

things ;  the  other  side  drifting  into  utter  humanism  and  crass 
materialism.  We  have  now  to  direct  our  attention  to  the 
efforts  which  have  been  made  to  steer  a  middle  course 
between  these  two  extremes,  not  by  adopting  the  theory  of 
dualism,  which  is  perhaps,  logically,  the  most  untenable  of 
all,  but  by  combining  both  extremes  in  one  common 
principle,  and  showing  that  they  are  two  branches  uniting 
at  the  one  hidden  root. 

The  pioneer  in  this  pathway  was  Arthur  Schopenhauer, 
who,  as  far  back  as  the  year  1819,  published  his  chief 
philosophical  work  under  the  title.  Die  Welt  als  Wille  und 
Vorstellung  ('  The  World  as  Will  and  Ideal  Representation '). 
For  many  years  little  notice  was  taken  of  this  remarkable 
treatise.  In  the  year  1839,  however,  Schopenhauer  was 
elected  a  member  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  in  Sweden, 
after  the  publication  of  his  prize  memoir  on  The  Freedom 
of  the  Will.  This  fact,  together  with  the  now  waning 
influence  of  idealism  in  Germany,  turned  the  attention  of 
philosophic  thinkers  once  more  to  the  long-neglected  work 
above  mentioned.  In  1844  a  new  and  enlarged  edition 
of  it  was  published ;  and  from  that  time  Schopenhauer  has 
taken  his  place  with  steadily-increasing  reputation  amongst 
the  most  remarkable  metaphysical  writers  of  the  age.  To 
this  result  various  things  have  contributed.  First  of  all, 
Schopenhauer  has  always  stood  aloof  from  the  professional 
teaching  of  philosophy,  and  has  renounced  in  his  writings 
the  use  of  all  the  old  technical  traditional  phraseology  by 
which,  he  affirms,  the  professed  metaphysicians  have  been 
long  imposing  upon  themselves  and  other  people.  His 
polemic  against  the  University  professors  of  philosophy 
gives  rise  to  some  of  the  most  piquant  passages  in  his 
various  writings. 

Then,  secondly,  the  character  of  the  times  has  favoured  a 
writer  who  set  himself  in  opposition  to  modern  Scholasticism, 
and  chose  rather  to  write  for  the  great  world  without. 
Thirdly,  though  Schopenhauer  has  formed  no  school  (which 
he,  indeed,  had  no  desire  to  do),  yet  he  has  reaped  the 
advantage  of  a  circle  of  admirers,  some  of  whom,  like 
Frauenstadt,  have  popularized  his  philosophy  by  admirable 
digests  and  expositions  of  the  doctrines  it  contains.     From 


124 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


these  and  other  reasons,  Schopenhauer  has  obtained  a 
popularity  which  few  others  of  the  present  day  can  boast 
of,  and  which  renders  his  system  well  worthy  of  our  attention. 

Let  us  first  of  all  see  how  Schopenhauer  separates  himself 
from  the  doctrines  maintained  by  earlier  teachers.  I  will 
take  the  following  account  of  it  from  one  of  Frauenstadt's 
letters,  as  being  the  representation  of  the  pupil  most  of  all 
intimate  with  the  thoughts  of  the  master. 

*  Schopenhauer  shows  us,'  says  Frauenstadt,  '  how,  since 
Descartes,  all  philosophizing  turns  upon  the  question  ot 
the  ideal  and  the  real— that  is,  of  what  is  objective  and  what 
is  subjective  in  our  knowledge;  what,  therefore,  is  to  be 
ascribed  to  things  separate  from  us,  and  what  to  ourselves. 
Accordingly,  for  the  last  two  hundred  years  the  main  effort 
of  philosophers  has  been  clearly  to  mark  off  what  belongs 
to  our  knowledge  alone  as  such  from  the  real — that  is,  from 
what  exists  independent  of  it — by  a  well-defined  separation 
line,  and  thus  to  fix  the  relation  of  both  to  each  other. 
This  line,  however,  Descartes  has  not  drawn  in  the  right 
place.  The  Cartesian  opposition  between  thought  and 
extension,  with  the  solution  of  which  Malebranche  and 
Spinoza,  as  well  as  Leibnitz,  busied  themselves  in  various 
directions,  falls,  as  Schopenhauer,  in  common  with  Kant, 
has  shown,  entirely  within  the  province  of  the  ideal,  i.e. 
within  the  world  as  ideal  representation.  Extension  is  in 
no  way  the  opposite  to  idea,  but  lies  wholly  within  it.  We 
represent  things  to  ourselves  as  extended,  and,  so  far  as 
they  are  extended,  they  are  only  our  representation ;  but 
whether,  independent  of  our  representation,  anything  is 
extended,— nay,  anything  at  all  exists, — that  is  the  question, 
that  the  original  problem.  The  true  opposite  to  ideal 
representation  is  not  extension,  but,  "as  Kant  said,  thing  of 
itself  {Ding  an  Sich),  which  Schopenhauer  has  delegated  to 
the  will. 

The  world  is  not  divided  into  the  two  elements  of  that 
which  is  mentally  represented  and  that  which  is  extended, 
but  into  the  mentally  represented  on  the  one  side  and 
the  essentially  existent  on  the  other,  or  into  the  ideal  and 
the  real  (the  phenomenal  and  essential),  so  that  the  funda- 
mental question  of  all  philosophy  is  to  define  the  relation 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century.     125 

of  these  two  to  each  other.     Spinoza,  starting  from  Des- 
cartes and  his  dualism  of  substantia  cogitans  and  substantia 
extensa,  only  attempted  to  solve  this  Cartesian  problem. 
But  as  the  two  opposed  terms  lie  wholly  within  the  region 
of  idea,  the  separation  line  between  the  ideal  and  the  real, 
as  drawn  by  Spinoza,  falls  wholly  within  the  ideal  side,  and 
thus  he  remains  always  planted  within  the  world  of  idea. 
This  world,  so  far  as  distinguished  by  the  form  of  extension, 
he  takes  for  the  real,  the  £>ing  an  Sich.     Consequently,  he 
is  perfectly  right  when  he  says  that  that  which  is  extended, 
and  that  which  is  ideally  represented  (that  is,  our  idea  of 
bodies  and  the  bodies  themselves),  are  one  and  the  same  ; 
for,  most  assuredly,  things  are  only  extended  as  conceived 
by  us,  and  they  can  only  be  conceived  by  us  as  extended. 
The  world  as  ideal  representation  and  the  world  of  space 
are  one  and  the  same  thing ;  this  we  can  entirely  admit. 
If,  then,  extension  were  an  attribute  of  the  thing  itself,  our 
perception  would  be  equivalent  to  a  knowledge  of  things  in 
themselves ;  and  so  Spinoza  takes  it,  and  herein  consists  his 
realism.     But,  inasmuch  as  he  does  not  go  to  the  founda- 
tion, and  does  not  show  that  there  is  a  real  world  of  space 
independent    of    our   perception    answering    to   the   world 
of  our  perceptions,   the    fundamental    problem    remains 
unsolved. 

After  mind  and  matter,  thought  and  extension,  were 
once  accepted  by  Descartes  as  fundamentally  and  essentially 
different  and  independent  substances,  one  may  well  wonder 
how  these  two  opposed  substances,  which  have  nothing 
whatever  in  common,  could  nevertheless  continue  to  form 
a  unity,  and  act  upon  each  other  mutually  as  soul  and 
body.  Men  split  their  heads,  in  fact,  over  this  wonderful 
combination,  and  called  in  den  lieben  Gott  to  their  help, 
who  was  bound  to  intervene  in  the  question,  in  order  to 
make  the  body  act  on  the  soul,  matter  on  mind,  and  the 
one  upon  the  other.  They  invented  the  system  of  occa- 
sional causes  (Malebranche)  and  of  pre-established  harmony 
(Leibnitz),  or,  with  Spinoza,  they  dissolved  mind  and 
matter  as  two  attributes  into  the  one  infinite  substance. 

All  this  might  have  been  spared  if  they  had  seen  that 
the  opposition  between  body  and  soul,  or  matter  and  mind. 


126 


riiilosophical  Fragme7its, 


German  Philosophy  in  Nirieteenth  Century,    1 2  7 


is  only  a  special  and  particular  expression  of  the  universal 
contrast  between  matter  and  force,  and  that  this  does  not 
indicate  at  all  two  different  and  independent  substances, 
but  only  two  modes  by  which  the  perceiving  subject  appre- 
hends the  object,  consequently  two  modes  of  mental 
representation. 

Speaking  generally,  every  attribute  which  we  affix  to 
a  thing,  every  predicate  which  we  give  to  it,  only  expresses 
the  mode  in  which  the  thing  works  and  reflects  itself  upon 
our  faculties ;  for  every  kind  of  predicate,  therefore,  there 
must  be  a  particular  function  in  the  perceiving  subject. 
Coloured  objects  we  apprehend  by  the  sight,  resounding 
objects  by  the  hearing ;  if  we  were  blind  and  deaf,  we  should 
know  nothing  of  colour  and  sound.  Just  so  must  it  be 
with  every  other  distinction  which  we  make  in  objects.  If 
we  distinguish  things  as  material  and  immaterial, — extended, 
divisible,  occupying  space,  or  unextended,  undivisible,  not 
occupying  space,— there  are  really  only  hvo  distinctions  which 
we  attribute  to  things  in  virtue  of  two  different  functions 
of  the  knowing  faculty,  and  not  by  any  means  two  hetero- 
geneous, self-maintaining  substances  independent  of  our 
modes  of  apprehension. 

Everything  can  be  apprehended  by  us  from  a  twofold 
point  of  view, — as  material  or  immaterial,  bodily  or  mental, 
— according  as  we  regard  it  with  the  space  faculty  (to  which 
everything  appears  extended  and  divisible)  or  with  the 
understanding,  which  lays  at  the  foundation  of  everything 
extended  an  invisible  and  simple  po7ver.  And  these  two 
modes  of  apprehension  cannot  be  separated ;  but  we  are 
constrained  to  conceive  a  power  at  the  basis  of  every  object 
of  extension,  and  to  think  everything  which  is  perceived  by 
us  as  material^  inwardly  as  immaterial.  Matter  and  force, 
therefore,  are  inseparable.  In  every  material  object  there 
is  working  an  immaterial /^7£/^r,  and  every  power  in  its  turn 
appears  outwardly  as  extended  matter,  from  the  bare, 
unorganized  stone,  in  which  gravitation  alone  works,  up  to 
the  organized  brain,  the  seat  of  reflection  and  judgment. 

The  question.  How  can  body  and  soul  hang  together? 
how  come  matter  and  mind  to  make  one  whole,  each  acting 
on  the  other  ?  is  therefore  at  the  bottom  nothing  but  the 


question.  How  do  we  come  to  represent  to  ourselves  one 
and  the  same  thing  in  two  different  ways?  It  is  conse- 
quently only  the  question  as  to  the  connection  of  two 
different  modes  of  apprehension. 

Materialists  and  spiritualists  alike,  without  suspecting  it, 
explain  the  world  from  what  is,  in  fact,  only  a  mode  of 
apprehending  it  by  the  perceiving  subject.  They  are  both, 
therefore,  without  knowing  it,  uncritical  realists,  inasmuch 
as  they  take  the  bare  perception  for  the  thing  itself.  *  In 
truth,'  says  Schopenhauer,  '  there  is  no  such  thing  as  either 
mind  or  matter,  but  plenty  of  nonsense  and  many  fanciful 
chimeras  in  the  world.'  The  pressure  of  gravitation  in  the 
stone  is  just  as  inexplicable  as  thought  in  the  human  brain, 
and  on  the  same  principle  might  lead  us  to  conclude  that 
there  is  a  mind  in  the  stone.  So  soon  as  ever,  even  in 
mechanics,  we  get  beyond  what  is  purely  mathematical, 
so  soon  as  ever  we  come  to  impenetrability,  gravitation, 
solidity,  or  fluidity,  we  meet  with  expressions  which  are 
just  as  mysterious  in  their  nature  as  thinking  and  willing — 
i.e.,  we  meet  with  the  inexplicable,  for  such  is  every  power  of 
nature.  Where  is  now  that  *  matter '  which  you  know  and 
understand  so  intimately  that  you  want  to  explain  every- 
thing by  it?  The  mathematical  element  alone  is  purely 
comprehensible,  because  it  is  rooted  in  the  subject,  i.e.  in 
our  own  perceptive  faculty ;  but  the  moment  anything 
strictly  objective  comes  up,  anything  that  cannot  be  deter- 
mined dr  priori,  this  we  find  in  the  last  instance  to  be  wholly 
inexplicable.  What  the  senses  and  the  understanding  per- 
ceive is  merely  a  superficial  phenomenon,  which  leaves  the 
true  and  inner  essence  of  things  untouched.  This  was 
Kant's  view.  Now,  if  you  imagine  a  mind  to  exist  in  the 
human  head  as  a  sort  of  Deus  ex  niachina,  you  must,  as  I 
said,  admit  the  same  to  exist  in  every  stone.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  you  admit  that  dead  and  passive  matter  can  exert 
a  power  like  gravitation,  or  attract  like  electricity,  can  repel 
or  strike  fire,  so  also  may  your  brain  think.  In  short,  to 
every  mind  we  may  attribute  matter;  but  then,  also,  to 
every  particle  of  matter  we  may  attribute  mind.  The  net 
result  is,  that  the  whole  conception,  the  whole  opposition 
between  mind  and  matter,  is  false. 


Miliriaiilttfflifflliri'i*''^*^'^'^'--*^^ 


128 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


It  is  no  little  merit  in  Schopenhauer  to  have  laid  bare 
the  falsehood  of  the  Cartesian  dualism,  which  is  always 
cropping  up  to  this  day  in  philosophy,  even  in  the  natural 
sciences,  and  in  that  way  to  have  made  an  end  once 
for  all  of  the  senseless  question  of  the  relation  of  mind 
and  matter,  and  specially  of  body  and  soul,  by  showing 
that  such  an  opposition  really  does  not  exist,  but  that 
everything,  without  distinction,  presents  (for  our  percep- 
tions) both  a  bodily  and  a  mental  side,  according  as  we 
regard  it  with  our  innate  space-perceiving  faculty,  or  our 
equally  innate  understanding,  which  refers  everything  ex- 
tended to  an  inward  operating  power;  from  which  it 
follows,  that  materialism  as  well  as  spiritualism  seeks  to 
deduce  the  world  from  that  which  is  not  an  original  self- 
existent  element  at  all,  ^but  merely  a  secondary  one — 
namely,  mere  ideal  representation. 

In  this  refutation  of  the  strife  between  materialism  and 
spiritualism,    Kant    had    certainly   prepared   the   way  for 
Schopenhauer.     But  if  we  consider  how  lightly  the  post- 
Kantian  philosophers  have  let  go  the  point  thus  gained, 
and  how  their  whole  speculation  turns  upon  the  question 
as  to  the  relation  of  mind  and  matter, — a  relation  which 
Kant  had  virtually  done  away  with, — so  that  on  the  one  side 
they  deduce  the  world  wholly  from  matter,  and  on  the 
other  side  wholly  from  mind,  while  there  are  others  who, 
like  Spinoza,  hold  the  absolute  ideality  of  both, — I  say, 
if  we  consider  this,  we  must  acknowledge  the  merit  of 
Schopenhauer  in  having  turned  our  thoughts  again  into  the 
Kantian   pathway,  and   for 'the  second  time   brought   to 
consciousness   the   true   problem,   which   consists  not   in 
showing  the  connection  between  mind  and  matter,  but  the 
connection  of  the  whole  world  as  ideal  representation  with 
things  in  their  essential  existence,  and  wholly  independent 
of  perception  and  its  forms. 

So  far  Frauenstadt,  who  has  succeeded,  I  think,  in  de- 
fining Schopenhauer's  relation  to  the  other  philosophies  of 
his  day  with  adequate  clearness.  There  is  no  longer  a 
contrast,  as  he  truly  says,  between  mind  and  matter,  between 
soul  and  body.  The  line  of  division  is  drawn  in  the  wrong 
place  j  the  contrast  is  between  the  world  of  phenomena  and 


Gei^man  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century,    1 29 

the  world  of  reality,  the  world  we  perceive  and  the  Bi?tg 
an  Sich  which  hides  itself  beneath  our  perceptions      Bu 
now  the  question  comes,  What  is  this  Dtng  an  Suh  ?  what 
fsThis  essential  existence,  which  some  have  termed  monad 
some   noumenon,   some   the  me,  some  the  absolute    some 
G^d?     Schopenhauer's  answer  is  quite  ready  ;  it  is  the  will 
The  world  of  phenomena  is  ideal  representation;  the  world  oj 
rellUyis  wilL\\^\^  is  the  summary  of  his  whole  philosophy. 
?he  term  will,  however,  must  be  taken  in  a  wide  sense 
induto^ever;  case  in  which  power  is  exerted  with  an  end 
or  pu  pose      Within  the  region  of  consciousness,  this  is 
obvS  enough.     We  exert  a  conscious  power  almost  ever^ 
moment  of  our  existence,  and  we  call  it  will.     Ihe  will  is 
Te^round  or  mainspring  of  all  our  actions,  and  everything 
therefore    which  is  the  produce  of  our  activity  may  be 
rSded  as  the  embodiment  of  that  will  in  the  outward  or 
phenomenal  world.     A  builder  conceives  a  structure  m  his 
mind  or  an  engineer  a  machine.     So  long  as  the  idea  only 
Sdsfs  there  is,  indeed,  the  whole  thing  before  him  in  a 
m  ntal^^^^^^^  but  not  as  a  reality  a  Dtng  an  Sjch^^ 

But  let  \iwill  come  into  operation,  let  him  actualize  his 
fdea  by  voluntary  effort  and  the  building  or  the  m^^^^^^^^^^ 
soon   has   an   independent   existence.       The   buUdmg  or 
machine  then,  may'be  truly  said  to  consist  of  two  elements 
-the  produce  of  idea,  and  the  produce  of  wil .     The  idea 
element  is  the  phenomenon,  the  will  element  is  the  reality. 
CaSy  on  this  illustration  into  the  region  of  unconsciousness. 
Wh^t  are  our  bodies  but  structures  formed  of  the  same  two 
elemen  s  as  those  above  indicated  ?     There  is  a  vital  power 
S  in  their  whole  formation;  every  cell,  every  tissue, 
every  organ  is  the  work  of  this  power,  which  is  the  will  in 
ts  unconscious  energy.     In  the  vegetable  world  the  san^ 
analogy   holds   good.      The   structure   of  every  plant  is 
owTnlto  the  operation  of  a  power  working  to  a  purpose-- 
that  is  to  a  will ;  and  even  the  inorganic  universe  itself   s 
the  product  of  will,  as  every  atom  and  every  stone  manifests 
a  power  which  assigns  it  its  place  in  the  whole  creation. 
The  whole  world,  therefore,  is  phenomenon  and  reality 
idea  Ind  will ;  thi^s  is  the  final  solution  of  the  question  of 
idealism  and  realism. 


r^o 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Let   me  take   one  other   passage   from  Frauenstadt,  in 
which  he  gives  a  brief  summary  of  Schopenhauer's  doctrine, 
and  by  which  the  above  explanation  may  be  tested  : — *  The 
fundamental   thought  of  Schopenhauer's  doctrine  is   this, 
that  the  thing  which  Kant  puts  in  contrast  to  mere  pheno- 
menon as  Ding  an  Sich,  and  held  to  be  absolutely  unknow- 
able,—this  substratum  of  all  phenomena,  consequently  of 
all  nature,— is  no  other  than  that  well-known  and  perfectly 
familiar  entity  which  we  find  within  us  as  will.    Consequently 
this  will,  so  far  from  being  inseparable  from  knowledge,  as 
all  former  philosophers  have  believed,  or  a  mere  result  of  the 
same,  is  fundamentally  different  from  and  wholly  indepen- 
dent of  knowledge,  which  in  fact  is  secondary  to  it,  and 
of  posterior  origin.     The  will,  accordingly,  can   exist  and 
manifest  itself  without  consciousness ;  which  really  happens 
in  the  entire  region  of  nature  from  the  animal  downwards. 
Nay,  this  will,  as  being  the  only  thing  essentially  existent, 
the  only  thing  truly  real,  original,  and  metaphysical  in  a 
world  where  all   else  is  only  phenomenon  (that  is,  ideal 
representation),  gives  to  everything  the  power  by  virtue  of 
which  it  can  outwardly  exist  and  work.     Consequently  not 
merely  the  spontaneous  actions  of  animals,  but  also   the 
organic  impulse  of  their  living  organisms,  as  well  as  the  form 
and  structure  of  the  same ;   nay,  still  further,  the  vegeta- 
tion of  plants  and  every  primitive  power  (such  as  crystal- 
lization)  in   the  unorganized  worid   manifesting  itself   in 
physical  and  chemical  phenomena ;    nay,  even  gravitation 
itself,  regarded  per  se  and  apart  from  mere  phenomena,  is 
precisely  identical  with  that  which  we  find  in  ourselves  as 
7vill,  of  which  will  we  have  the  most  immediate  and  inti- 
mate knowledge  possible.    Further,  the  particular  expressions 
of  this  will  are  set  into  action,  in   the  case  of  conscious 
beings,  by  motives;  but  no  less  in  the  organic  life  of  animals 
and  plants  by  nervous  impulses,  and  in  the  case  of  inor- 
ganic things  by  causes  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word. 
On    the    contrary,    knowledge,    and    its    substratum    the 
intellect,  is  a  phenomenon  wholly  different  from  will,  merely 
secondary  to  it,  and  only  accompanying  the  higher  stages 
of  the  will's  objectivity ;  consequently  is  unessential  to  it, 
independent  of  its  manifestation  in  animal  organisms,  and 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century.    1 3 1 

in  its  nature  physical  rather  than  metaphysical.  From 
the  absence  of  consciousness,  therefore,  in  any  case,  we 
can  never  conclude  on  the  absence  of  will ;  so  far  from 
that  will  may  be  known  as  present  in  all  the  manitesta- 
tion's  of  unconscious  as  well  as  vegetable  and  inorganic 
nature.  In  a  word,  will  is  not  conditioned  by  knowledge 
(as    philosophers   have   before   held),  but   knowledge   by 

^^6n  the  basis  of  this  speculative  view  regarding  the  nature 
of  intelligence  and  will,  Schopenhauer  builds  a  system  of 
ethics  as  novel   as   it   is   ingenious.      Intelligence   is   the 
principle  of  individuality ;  will,  the  prmciple  of  unity  and 
identity.     The  basis  of  virtue  is  the  recogmtion  of  this 
unity  of  will  in  all  living  beirigs.     To  maintain  one  s  own 
will   in   opposition   to  all   other   existence  around   us,  is 
egoism,  the  principle  of  evil ;   to  apprehend  and  act  on   he 
^eat  truth  that  all  existence  is  7uill,  and  all  will  ^^one,  is  the 
foundation  of  virtue.     This  is  expressed  outwardly  by  what 
we  term  sympathy,  which  is,  therefore,  the  primary  impulse 
to  all  good  action.     The  highest  good  is  only  to  be  found 
in  the  entire  renunciation  of  the  individual  will,  and  its 
complete  sacrifice  to  the  good  of  all.     Then  only  is  the  true 
freedom  of  the  will  wholly  realized.  . 

Closely  connected  with  Schopenhauer,  and  belonging  to 
the  same  order  of  philosophical  speculation,  though  of  a 
far  more   recent  date,  is  the  work  of  E.   von   Hartmaii 
entitled,  The  PhUosophy  of  the  Unconsaous  {Philosophic  (tts 
Unbewussten),  published  in  1869.     Although  the  matenal 
with  which  Hartman  deals  is  very  similar  to  that  of  Schopen- 
hauer,  and   many  of  his  conclusions  are  very  nearly  the 
same,  yet  the  whole  tone  and  method  of  the  book  shows  a 
more  recent  origin,  and  a  greater  affinity  with  the  thought 
of  the  present.     Schopenhauer  from  the  beginning  is  pro- 
secuting his  research  for  the  real-the  Ding  an  ^/rA-and 
finds  its  essence  in  the  will.     Hartman  takes  no  pains  to 
find  this  chimera  of  the  eariy  part  of  the  nmeteenth  century  ; 
he  takes  the  phenomena  of  the  woridas  he  finds  them  ^^d 
pursues  his  research  by  the  now  established  methods  of 
induction.     He  begins,  accordingly,  by  niarshaling  facts 
not  by  announcing  general  conclusions,  which  the  philo- 


132 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


sophy  of  induction  shows  can  only  be  arrived  at  gradually 
at  the  close  of  our  whole  investigation. 

And  the  facts  relating  to  the  unconscious  principle  in 
nature  and  mind  are  not  far  to  seek ;  they  have  been 
noted  and  dwelt  upon,  more  or  less,  by  modem  philosophers 
of  almost  every  school  of  thought.  Leibnitz  in  his  time 
observed  that  there  are  monads  which  operate  by  virtue  of 
an  inherent  principle  of  inteUigence  without  consciousness ; 
and  in  his  psychological  remarks,  he  shows  clearly  enough 
that  the  fact  of  the  soul  not  being  conscious  of  its  thoughts 
is  no  proof  that  it  has  ceased  to  think,  Kant  contrasts  dim 
perceptions  with  clear  ones,  and  says  that,  regarding  the 
whole  map  of  the  human  consciousness,  only  a  small  portion 
can  be  illuminated  at  once.  Schelling  brought  forward  pro- 
minently in  his  philosophy  the  principle  of  unconscious 
intelligence,  and  spoke  of  it  as  the  root  out  of  which  all 
conscious  intelligence  springs.  But  without  citing  any 
further  the  views  of  mere  speculative  thinkers,  we  may  find 
the  same  facts  of  unconscious  mental  activity  brought  to 
view  by  several  of  the  purely  inductive  investigators  of  our 
own  country.  This  line  of  research  was  begun  by  Dr. 
Marshall  Hall,  and  ended  (in  his  case)  by  the  complete 
establishment  of  the  physiological  doctrine  of  reflex  action, 
by  virtue  of  which  nervous  activity  is  produced  and  perfectly 
adapted  to  subserve  important  purposes  in  the  bodily 
functions,  the  whole  process  lying  completely  within  the 
region  of  the  unconscious.  To  this  doctrine  of  reflex  action, 
termed  excito-motor.  Dr.  Carpenter  added  that  of  sensori- 
motor action,  or  action  produced  and  guided  by  sensations 
without  any  further  intellectual  effort  or  any  volitional 
control.  Lastly  appeared  the  still  more  important  fact  that 
there  is  also  such  a  thing  as  reflex  action  of  brain^  in  which 
emotions,  ideas,  purposes,  speech,  and  determinate  actions 
are  all  produced  by  the  agency  of  cerebral  action,  while  the 
subject  of  them  may  be  wholly  unconscious  of  the  entire 
process  and  result.  To  this  physiological  fact,  a  vast 
number  of  the  phenomena  of  somnambulism,  mesmerism, 
table-turning,  planchette  writing,  and  so-called  spiritualism 
have  been  correctly  traced,  the  spiritual  agency  being  in 
most   cases  simply  the  spirit  of  the  individual   working 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century.    1 3  3 

unconsciously,  and  thus  naturally  enough  referred  to  some 
unconsciousij',  <u.  rocM   nf    unconscious    mental 

spiritual  agency  beyond.      Cases  01    "nconsc  u 
arrion  are  being  mult  pi  ed  every  day;    but  it  has   oeen 
reslr^ed  for  theiriter  we  are  now  considering  to  build  upon 
Ihes"  facte  a  whole   system  of  philosophy  and  an  entire 

*''Stl*'dwidefhis  inquiry  into,  three  parts.  In  the 
fl  ^iTXe  treats  Of  the  phenomena  of  the  unconscious 
fn'ouTjhyicarlStutio^;  in  the  second  he  treat,  of 
the°"nconscious  in  connection  with  ""«'^^,,^^"f  in  the  thud 
u  .i.^,xrc  thP  aenesis  of  consciousness  out  ot  ttie  uncon 
Sots^U'drfwTSneral  philosophical  co^^^^^^^^^^^ 

and  he  ganX      It  fs  known  by  comparative  physiology  that 

EEt  rrLTa^ir '.lyt  »r& 

mion  and  hens  will  put  their  heads  under  their  wmgs  and 

SPbr  h^t^  s^mL^d^p  nde^/t 
SfsidS Tn  the  human  ganglia,  and  that  this  will  is  a 
manifestation  of  the  unconscious. 

'.^?nt%Ss  the  most  perfect  adapUtion  of  means  to 
Tn  end  C"  ^e  poT-  'of  instinct  \.^..^. ^^^^  ent>re 
preservation  of  the  individual,  and  the  ^ontin-iation  of  the 
?Ice  so  that  the  whole  existence  of  animal  and  organ  c 
Ufe  depends  upon  a  complication  of  activities,  wholly 
involuntary  and  wholly  unconscious.  however  due 


134 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


lightness  to  the  spirits,  energy  to  the  frame.  It  is  this  same 
unconscious  force  which  carries  on  the  process  of  cell- 
formation  in  the  structure  of  the  human  frame,  which 
produces  all  the  normal  changes  in  the  tissues,  pervades 
the  blood  in  its  circulation  through  the  body,  and  aids  the 
necessary  processes  of  nutrition,  absorption,  and  assimilation. 

Passing  on  to  the  power  of  the  unconscious  in  relation  to 
mind,  we  are  confronted  with  a  vast  series  of  phenomena 
of  the  most  interesting  kind.  Some  of  these  phenomena 
are  abnormal,  as  seen  in  that  entire  class  of  involuntary 
action,  thought,  and  expression  which  begins  in  som- 
nambulism, and  passes  through  the  different  stages  of 
manifestation  known  as  mesmerism,  clairvoyance,  and 
electro-biology.  But  there  are  normal  as  well  as  abnormal 
developments  of  the  unconscious  in  connection  with  mind. 
Genius  is  unconscious.  Poeta  nascitur  non  fit.  Artistic 
power  comes  as  an  inspiration  from  heaven.  The  produc- 
tive imagination  paints  its  glowing  imagery  by  no  rules; 
and  no  one  can  tell  when,  whence,  or  how  the  afflatus 
comes  upon  us,  for  it  rises  up  from  the  region  of  uncon- 
sciousness and  descends  there  again  when  its  work  is  over. 
Even  in  ordinary  thinking  there  is  a  large  element  which 
comes  out  of  the  world  of  unconsciousness.  The  very 
links  of  association  which  bind  our  ideas  together  are  woven 
in  the  dark,  and  the  highest  glimpses  of  philosophical 
generalizadon  come  upon  us  when  they  are  least  expected ; 
so  it  is  with  the  emotions.  Hartman  dwells  especially 
upon  the  phenomena  of  love  as  a  revelation  of  the  uncon- 
scious, and  shows  how,  with  all  the  sorrow,  anguish,  and 
disappointment  which  comes  in  its  train,  it  goes  on 
victoriously  providing  for  the  continuance  of  the  race  and 
the  well-being  of  offspring,  even  contrary  to  all  our  thoughts 
and  calculations  for  the  future  of  our  own  peace  and 
happiness. 

No  philosophical  writings  have  been  so  much  read  and 
so  much  disputed  over  in  Germany,  during  the  last  ten 
years,  as  those  of  Schopenhauer  and  Hartman.  This  has 
arisen  mainly  from  two  causes— first,  the  attractiveness  and 
pungency  of  the  style,  contrasting  so  greatly  with  the  dry 
scholasticism  and  abstract  technology  of  the  larger  portion 


GenncLU  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century,    1 3  5 

nf  the  other  philosophical   works   of  that   country ;    and 

muSbr  efly  at  the  complexion  which  that  philosophy 
must  hint  Drieny  Elected  all  the  evidences  which 

TpTe  ref/oX  Z  o'er'  Jr  the  existence  of  a  persona 

St^ted^^at  rJ^r  asl  ^Si^^  *e"^ 

SI S  and  rep^aches  hi.  wi^h^on^win,  his  whole 

r/ifremairbut*  o  In,  the  V^^^^^^ ^^ 
altogether.  But  having  done  this  -^^^l>^^"J^^f  /^ 
in  pantheism,  -  so  --y  f  'J^^./^'eVse  presents  too 
•^^Tornran  aspect  of  confusion,  disorder,  suffering,  and 
^:ir  for V&gme  for  a  mo^^^^^^^^  ^^^J^ rhVnS 
T^V'  fSn^y  •  h  w^te°  ?m""be  a'n'iU-adv.sed  God 
who'ioesnol  understand  how  to  give  Himself  any  better 
treadon  th°an  to  embody  Hunself  in  a  wo.W  ike  his  -a 

world  so  hun_^y  and  ^^J^^:^^^:^^i:iZ  bdn  ""ho 

numberless  millions  ?f  ''^«?  ^^^  .^^ther,  to  suffer 

"^^  """LT  death  without  melure  and  without  purpose; 

^[nThrfJrm  of  six  minion  of  negro  slaves,  to  endure  daily 

nnAe  average  sixty  million  stripes  upon  the  bare  body; 

n   the   form   of  three   million   European   weavers,  to 

^^getatf  hungry  °and  wretched,   i^  Sef^t^^eaS 

rrSdThf  r  tave^SeVS ustomed  otherwise  to 

^om^g   better!    surely  je  .^^^^V^^^  ^st  to 
in^agined  by  some  to  be  mad^^^^^  ^  ^^^^  „^g,. 

^^tT^X^V^t;^^^^^^^^^  -  undemonstrated  to 
"'-^Uls4"S;Sism,then,beingbothrejected,whathave 


I  ;6 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


Messieurs  Schopenhauer  and  Hartman  to  put  in  their  place? 
The  former  replies,  Will — will  taken  not  in  a  narrow  and 
individual,  but  in  a  broad  and  general  sense.  Will  is  power, 
will  is  life,  will  is  matter,  will  is  God,  will  is  the  whole 
universe  so  far  as  it  is  not  phenomenal.  But,  unfortunately, 
will  is  blind^  will  is  without  intelligence  or  consciousness, 
will  is  stupid  and  groping,  and  so  the  world,  which  it  forms, 
presents  an  aspect  of  disorder  and  misery  that  only  in- 
creases in  proportion  as  will  asserts  itself,  and  can  only  be 
ameliorated  by  ascetic  self-renunciation  and  the  quietism 
of  perfect  indifference.  Schopenhauer,  in  a  word,  is  a 
pessimist  of  the  first  order.  In  his  view,  the  world  is  too 
bad  for  us  to  regard  it  as  governed  by  an  intelligent  or  a 
beneficent  being ;  and  we  can  only  fall  back  upon  some 
first  principle  which  has  all  the  dimness  and  helplessness  of 
the  human  will,  when  unilluminated  by  reason  and  unguided 
by  conscience. 

Hartman's  *  first  principle '  is  still  more  indefinite,  namely 
the  unconscious;  and  if  you  inquire  further  what  is  the 
unconscious  as  applied  to  the  world  at  large,  rather  than  to 
the  individual,  the  only  answer  we  obtain  is,  that  it  is  the 
Alleinigkeit  ('the  Absolute  One').  In  his  views  of  life 
Hartman  vies  with  Schopenhauer  in  drawing  it  after  the 
most  approved  pessimist  model ;  and  the  practical  result  of 
the  whole  inquiry  is  this,  that  as  human  life  is  a  failure, 
and  must  ever  present  a  scene  of  hopeless  illusion  and 
misery,  the  development  of  intelligence  in  the  race  ought 
to  lead  to  a  wise  determination  amongst  all  nations  and 
peoples  to  cut  it  short  by  willing  and  determining  its  non- 
continuance.  Thus  the  Alleinigkeit^  on  which  the  system 
rests,  will  find  a  method  of  happy  despatch^  and  end,  as  all 
atheistic  systems  must  do,  in  nihilism. 

So  far,  then,  we  have  been  considering  the  first  attempts 
made  to  mediate  between  the  conflicting  systems  of  idealism 
and  realism,  based  upon  the  principle  of  monism.  We 
have  next  to  notice  another  series  of  attempts  to  do  the 
same,  based  upon  the  atomic  theory.  Many  writers  have 
attempted  to  follow  along  this  pathway  of  speculation  since 
Leibnitz  led  the  way  by  his  theory  of  monodologie.  Even 
Kant  in  the  earlier  stages  of  his  career  favoured  the  atomic 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century,    1 3  7 

view  of  nature,  but  returned  afterwards,  as  far  as  he  ventured 
at   all   to  trench  on   this   question,    to   the    prmciple    of 
monism.     Herbart,  as  we  saw,  utterly  set  aside  the  whole 
idea  of  one  absolute  substance,  and  affirmed  that  we  are 
bound  to  admit  as  many  distinct  existences  as  there  are 
distinct  phenomena.     Meantime   the  progress   of  natura 
philosophy,  and  particularly  chemistry,  has  gradually  brought 
the  atomistic  view  of  matter  and  force   once  more  into 
voRue  :  and  accordingly  we  find  now  in  Germany  a  schoo 
of  philosophical  writers  who,  starting  from  the  standpoint 
of  natural  science,  have  aimed  at  basing  an  entire  philosophy 
of  the  universe  upon  the  atomic  theory.     Those  who  stand 
out  most  prominently  in  this  direction  are  Herman  Lotze, 
author  of  the  Mikrokosmos,  and  G.  F.  Fechner,  the  cele- 
brated psycho-physicist.     The  great  merit  of  Lotze  is  his 
attempt  to  unite  in  one  comprehensive  view  the  mechanical 
and  atomistic  view  of  nature  on  the  one  side,  with  the 
spiritual   and   ethical  on   the   other.     He    maintains    the 
atomic  theory  of  material  existence  as  the  best  explanation 
of  the  phenomena  of  nature  on  purely  experimental  grounds, 
and  explains  the  organic  working  of  nature  on  mechanical 
principles-that  is  to  say,  he  rejects  all  theories  of  a  vital 
force  and  shows  that  there  is  a  harmony  of  powers  in  the 
world,  by  virtue  of  which  every  single  thing  acts  upon  every 
other,   a  great   and  divine  plan,  according  to  which  the 
world  is  formed,  carried  on,  and  sustained. 

With  regard  to  the  question  of  soul  and  body,  Lotze  does 
not  deny  but  that  in  some  higher  sphere  of  thought  the 
difference  between  the  merely  organic  and  the  self-conscious 
may  disappear  ;  but  to  our  present  and  plam  apprehensions, 
the  difference  of  the  two  is  so  defined  that  it  must  be 
accepted   as    part   of  any  intelligible    exposition    of  the 

phenomena  around  us.  •  .       u-  1,      «  ..^  f^ 

The  mechanical  view  of  nature  with  which  we  are  to 
explain  the  working  of  individual  organisms,  must  be 
completed,  according  to  Lotze,  by  a  moral  and  teleologica 
vieTof  the  universe  as  a  whole.^  The  laws  by  which  a  1 
nature  works,  though  mechanical  m  their  individual  aspect, 
yet  reveal  one  ^eat  plan  and  purpose  that  can  only 
emanate  from  an  infinite  mind  who  shapes  the  whole  to  one 


138 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


intelligent  end.  Thus,  in  the  hands  of  its  later  exponents, 
the  atomic  theory  is  made  the  ground  of  a  complete  con- 
ception of  nature,  which  leads  us  up  to  one  divine  and 
infinite  personality,  on  whose  power  and  intelligence  it 
absolutely  depends. 

The  real  apostle  of  the  atomistic  theory,  however,  is 
Gustav  Theodor  Fechner,  the  author  of  the  Elements  of 
Psychophysik,  and  more  recently  of  a  remarkable  treatise, 
Ueber  die  physikalische  und  philosophische  Atomenlehre. 

The  first  and  larger  portion  of  this  treatise  is  taken  up 
with  the  atomic  theory  as  the  basis  of  a  system  of  natural 
science;    the  latter   portion   includes   the   bearing   of  that 
theory    upon    the    wider    questions    of    philosophy.     The 
advocates  of  the  atomic  theory,  from  Leibnitz  downwards, 
have  regarded   each   atom,  or  monad,  as   possessing   an 
independent  power,  and  have  identified  the  monad  in  its 
I^rimary  form  as  being  the  basis  alike  of  all  material  and 
mental  existence.     Not  that  a  soul  with  consciousness  like 
our  own  is  attributed  to  each  monad,  for  some  may  be 
naturally  incapable  of  rising  to  this  height,  or  may  not  yet 
have   realized   the   conditions   of  doing  so;   but  yet  the 
corporeal  monad  and  soul  monad  are  regarded  as  being 
of  the  same  nature,  so  that  the  world  of  mind  and  matter  are 
identified  at  their  root.     Many   weighty  reasons  exist  for 
maintaining  this  view  of  the  atomic  doctrine,  as  it  clears 
away  numberless  difficulties  and   bridges   over   the   great 
gulf  between  the  conscious  and  the  unconscious.     Fechner, 
however,  has  given  quite  another  complexion  to  the  atomic 
theory.     He  does  not  deny  a  psychic  force  to  the  monad 
altogether,  but  explains  it  as  existing  not  in  the  simple  monad, 
but  as  the  last  and  highest  result  of  a  complete  atomic 
system,  which  in  its   exterior  manifestation   produces    the 
body,  and  in  its  interior  manifestation  the  soul. 

This  view  of  the  atomic  theory,  says  Fechner,  agrees 
with  the  ordinary  monodological  theory,  inasmuch  as  it 
bases  the  world  both  of  body  and  mind  upon  the  same 
simple  and  separate  atoms,  and  thus  shows  even  the  body 
to  be  a  system,  which  on  the  side  of  its  inner  manifestation 
is  essentially  spiritual,  while  it  only  becomes  material  in  its 
outer  manifestations.     This  view  of  the  question,  accord- 


Gennan  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century,    1 39 

ingly,  stands  in  the  same  opposition  as  the  other  Phases  of 
the  atomistic  theory  to  the  dualistic,  the  matenaUstic,  and 
most  forms  of  the  idealistic  philosophy.  It  is  distmguished 
however,  from  the  ordinary  monodologie,  inasmuch  as,  in 
iTe  of  connecting  a  psychical  unity  with  .../.  ./.^,  and 
^hus  making  as  many  souls  (conscious  or  unconscious)  as 
there  are  separate  atoms,  it  connects  psychical  unity  in  the 
last  and  highest  instance  with  the  whole  atomic  system  of 
he  universe  (God),  and  subordinate  psychical  umties 
(human  and  animal  souls)  with  the  ^^bordinate  parts  of  he 
whole  svstem.  In  this  way  an  entirely  diff^erent  conception 
Irts  b'oth  as  to  the  reladon  of  soul  and  body,  and  also 

as  to  the  universe  at  large.  a  a  <.^ 

In  a  broad  sense  the  whole  body  may  be  regarded  as 
inspired  with  soul,  in  so  far  as  all  its  parts  and  act.vi.es, 
becoming  complete  by  virtue  of  the.r  mutual  connec  .on, 
and  capable  to  a  certain  degree  of  tak.ng  each  other's  place 
contribute  to  the  power  of  self-man.festation  A  real  self- 
consciousness,  the'refore,  is  not  to  be  attnbuted  to  the  -^«. 
of  the  atoms  themselves,  but  is  only  hnked  on  to  their 
united  normal  activity.  , 

In  a  word,  Fechner,  while  regarding  the  monad  as  the 

real  basis  of  all  mental  and  material  existence   considers 

he  phe"  omena  of  mind  and  matter  alike  -  flowing  not 

from  any  intrinsic  force  or  faculty  which  each  possesses, 

hut  from  the  fixed  laws  of  their  mutual  co-operation. 

Ther™  is  yet  one  other  phase  of  philosophical  thought  in 
Germany  (and  that  perhaps  the  most  prominent  at  the 
pre™nt  mLent)  which  is^epresented  by  the  Journal  of 
Philosophy  and  Philosophical  Criticism,  edi  ed  by  F  chte 
rte  younger  (lately  deceased),  Ulrici  of  Halle  and  W.rth 
Protestant  clergyman  in  Winnenden).  The  whole  tone  of 
Ws  ouTnal  is  thoroughly  theistic,  whilst  it  apprehends  both 
metiphysics  and  psychology  from  a  predominantly  expen- 

■"rmS  H™  Fichte,  the  son  of  the  celebrated 
idealist,  has  had  a  long  career  (only  ,ust  closed)  of  phil^ 
soDhical  activity,  and  deserves  a  wider  reputation  than  has 
aSv- fallen  o  his  lot.  In  an  interesting  monogram 
written  some  years  ago,  termed   DU  Seelen-frage,  he  has 


I40 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


given  us  a  brief  personal  sketch  of  his  own  mental  life  and 
growth,  which  is  important  as  showing  the  progress  of  a 
mind  through  the  speculative  phases  of  modern  German 
thought,  and  the  tendency  of  those,  even  most  deeply 
imbued  with  the  spirit  of  mere  abstract  research,  to  break 
out  into  the  more  open  daylight  of  experimental  philosophy. 

*  In  my  early  years,'  writes  Fichte,  *  while  yet  on  the 
threshold  of  youth,  I  enjoyed  the  great  happiness  of  possess- 
ing in  both  my  parents  (ever  the  objects  of  my  highest 
veneration)  an  example  and  an  experience  which  shaped 
my  whole  future  life.  The  fact  of  a  life  spent  in  the  world 
above  sense,  fraught  with  high  and  world-conquering  powers, 
which  gave  indomitable  courage  in  life,  and  the  highest 
resignation  in  death — all  this  came  before  me  in  the  most 
imposing  form,  at  once  inspiring  and  rousing  to  further 
contemplation.  That  picture  of  a  **  Life  in  God,"  in  which 
I  was  allowed  to  take  part,  though,  as  it  were,  from  a 
distance,  has  never  forsaken  me ;  it  was  to  me  the  summit 
and  crown  of  existence,  to  which  every  earnest  mind  might 
attain,  and  at  the  same  time  the  key  to  the  comprehension 
of  my  father's  philosophy  both  in  its  Scholastic  form  and 
its  deeper  meaning.    In  my  father's  IVissenschaftlehre,  in  his 

Way  to  a  Blessed  Life,  in  the  lectures  he  delivered  in  1812 
on  morals,  the  scientific  interpretation  of  his  life  itself  came 
before  me  with  the  greatest  power.  Kant's  doctrine,  also, 
of  the  Homonoumenon  had  an  imperishable  effect  upon 
me,  since  the  very  soberest  of  all  thinkers  there  showed 
that  he  could  not  draw  himself  away  from  the  power  of  that 
great  fact  by  which,  as  he  expresses  it,  man  is  placed  in  the 
midst  of  a  supersensual  order  of  things.  My  half-philo- 
logical studies  of  Plotinus  and  the  Neo-platonics  brought 
me  now  in  connection  with  iheosophy\  while .  the  love  which 
my  mother  bore  to  the  Christian  mystics  also  introduced 
me  into  another  rich  world  of  mental  experience. 

*  Here  I  must  observe,  that  at  this  time  (i.e.  soon  after 
the  commencement  of  the  present  century)  the  sentimental 
theism  of  Jacobi  predominated  in  the  theological  world, 
especially  in  the  form  in  which  Fries  presented  it — mixed 
up,  that  is  to  say,  with  a  considerable  element  of  Kantism. 
Amongst  the  younger  philosophical  thinkers,  Oken's  Natural 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteejith  Century,    1 4 1 

PhUosophy  exercised  a  great  influence,  f  P^/^^^ly  .'^^^^^1' 
Jsis  he  had  infused  into  his  system  a  bold  political  tone. 
He  st'ood  as  the  chief  representative  of  the  then  reigning 
Natur-philosophie.     The  originator  of  this  schoo  ,  I  mean 
Shelling,  waf  no  longer  active  ;  Hegel  was  scarce^  known  ; 
while  Schleiermacher  and  Steffens  exercised  a  good  deal  of 
power,  but  within  more  limited  circles      It  is  not  to  be 
denied,   indeed,   that  his   (Oken's)  independent  style  of 
thought  and  th;  bold  decision  of  his  philosophical  specula- 
ions  were  naturally  calculated  to  impose  upon  the  youth  of 
that  ale     Although  many  of  his  political  sayings  compelled 
^tumultuous  approbation,  yet  his  Phjlosophica    dogm^^^ 
made  a  bad,  and  sometimes  even  a  comic,  impression  upon 
me,  on  account  of  their  unmeasured  but  empty  pretensions 
Sne  might  admit  a  certain  appearance  of  logical  connection 
\^  his  idea  of  God  as  the  zero  out  of  which  every  finite 
existence  springs,  and  into  whose  abyss  it  must  return,  and 
of  nature  as  the^  ernal  producer  without  beginning  and  end  ; 
fetTe  whole  was  mere  scaffoldings  of  empty  orms  where- 
wi  h  to  cover  the  insolubility  of  the  problems,  for  which  his 
more  successful  scientific  views  could  not  compensate.     We 
wUl  not  at  present  call  up  the  ghosts  of  old  controversies; 
Tt      it  may  not  be  useless  here  to  notice  with  what  poverty 
ricken  h'usks,  both  on  the  one  and  the  other  side,  the 
aspiring  youth  of  that  time  was  nourished ;  and  on  this 
^Ka^t  least,  we  may  admit  the  great  merit  of  Hegel, 
who  to  say  the  least,  put  an  end  to  this  solemn  triflmg. 

Vnder^thesecircurJistances,  I  betook  myse^tothe  prime 
originator  of  this  whole  philosophical  method ;  I  mean  to 
SDinoza.     But  here  I  found,  in  the  main,  the  same  defects. 
Si    docfrli^e  of  absolute  necessity,  which  drew  everything 
in^o  a  chain   of   fixed   consequences   and    destroyed  all 
purpose  and  all  freedom,  I  opposed  the  grand  objecuon  of 
Leibnitz,  that  this   doctrine  does  not  at  all  answer  to  the 
real  cor^stitution  of  the  world,-which  constitution  bears 
pTa  nly  upon  it  the  stamp  of  a  whole  system  of  means  and 
ends  worked  out  according  to  the  laws  of  intelhgence  and 
orde;  ^and  that  it  is  the  notion  of  a  relative,  a  moral,  and 
antt'elligent  necessity  which  can  alone  answer  to  t^^^ 
of  the  case.     How  much  that  is  grand  and  beautiful  Leib- 


142 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


nitz  drew  from  this  simple  and  convincing  thought  is  well 
known.  I  gave  myself,  therefore,  next,  and  that  diligently, 
to  the  study  of  this  great  thinker,  then,  strange  to  say, 
almost  forgotten  and  despised. 

*  But  even  in  Spinoza's  doctrine  the  profound  idea  of  an 
amor  intellectualis  Dei,  the  crowning-stone  of  the  whole 
building,  appeared  to  me  to  give  the  lie  to  his  first  principles 
rather  than  confirm  them,  inasmuch  as  it  threatened  to  pull 
down,  at  last,  the  blank  conception  of  the  impersonality  of 
God  and  the  unsubstantiality  of  the  human  soul.  In  this 
idea  I  found  those  great  ethical  and  religious  facts  again 
making  their  appearance,  and  that  in  their  purest  and 
happiest  form.  Love  is  a  feeling  so  rich,  and  which  pre- 
supposes such  a  fulness  of  complete  personality,  that  it 
becomes  an  unintelligible  paradox  to  attribute  it  to  an 
abstract  and  impersonal  substance,  or  to  affirm  that  the 
unsubstantial  and  finite  modes  of  the  absolute  thought  (for 
the  human  soul  in  this  system  is  nothing  more)  could 
possibly  be  the  possessors  of  such  a  feeling. 

*  Such  are  the  philosophical  caricatures  which  must  always 
be  produced  if  we  undertake  to  force  the  rich  fulness  of  life 
itself  into  the  limits  of  incompetent  theories.  Such  theories 
cannot  really  be  completed  even  in  thought,  still  less  can 
they  satisfy  the  human  curiosity  as  being  an  exhaustive 
explanation  of  the  facts  themselves. 

*My  own  education,  which  had  ever  impelled  me  to 
some  definite  results,  had  early  protected  me  from  the 
prejudice  of  imagining  that  there  could  be  any  particular 
depth  or  extraordinary  wisdom  in  such  nebulous  proposi- 
tions. I  set  all  such  suspicious  pretensions  to  depth  of 
thought  on  one  side,  and  have  found  abundantly  since  then 
the  value  of  such  a  course  in  the  study  of  Schelling  and 
Hegel. 

'  Still  the  question  ever  returned,  where  the  central  idea 
was  to  be  found  by  means  of  which  it  was  possible  to  get 
beyond  the  whole  circle  of  these  doctrines,  and  that,  too,  on 
scientific  grounds.  And  here  I  must  acknowledge  thank- 
fully what  I  owe  to  the  influence  of  Heinrich  Steffens.  I 
found  in  him  the  same  causes  of  dissatisfaction  with  the 
reigning  philosophy,  a  similar  struggle  to  throw  off  the  yoke 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century.    1 43 

of  abstract  ideas,  and  the  same  impulse  to  solve  the  problem 
of  the  world  as  well  as  the  soul  out  of  the  fulness  of  nature 
and  the  life  of  history.     To  him  I  owe  it,  next  to  Kant 
Fichte,  and  Leibnitz,  that  my  attention  was  directed  to  the 
right  and  complete  idea  of  man  as  based  yx^^ox,  experience 
I^refer  on  this  point  particularly  to  his  Anthropology,  M 
we  must  regard  as  his  chief  work.     Man  is,  according  to 
him,  a  being  standing  within  the  limits  of  nature,  and  ye 
abo;e  nature.      He    is   a  being,   too,   possessing  perfect 
individuality,  because  the  individual  element  does  not  find 
its  primary  ground  simply  in  organic  differences,  but  in  the 
intellectual  and  moral  constitution  of  the  soul. 

« The  doctrine  of  individual  genius,  in  a  word,  was  tirst 
sketched  out  by  Steffens,  and  regarded  by  him  as  affectmg 
the  whole  character  of  psychology.  This  doctrine  was 
hinted  at  in  SchelUng's  Treatise  on  ^^^^^^^''^.^ut  without 
being  distinguished  from  the  opposite  view  with  any  degree 
of  clearness^  In  Hegel's  philosophy  the  whole  idea  was 
suppressed,  inasmuch  as  he  took  the  wbole  groundwork  of 
genius  out  of  the  sphere  of  the  human  and  raised  it  mto 
the  region  of  absolute  reason. 

'Around  this  cardinal  point  the  whole  of  our  present 
philosophy  turns  as  on  a  pivot ;  and  upon  the  correct 
Fnterpretaiion  of  it  depends  not  only  the  much-needed 
reconciliation  between  faith  and  knowledge,  bu  even  the 
solution  of  social  questions  and  the  great  problem  of  the 

^"'"it'  will  now  be  sufficiently  evident  why  the   idea  of 
creation  has  always  stood,  to  me  at  least   m  the  second 
degree   of   importance-nay,  why   every  theological    cos- 
mogonv  can  possess  but  a  very  equivocal  worth  m  my  eyes 
Schooled  in  the  spirit  of  the  Kantian  philosophy,  I  have 
tecome  deeply  convinced  that  we  can  \^^nothtng  what- 
^.rTespect  ng  these  questions  by  any  h  pnon  procedure, 
S  from  any  inner  laws  of  reason,  and  that  we  must  pursue 
L  more  modest  pathway  of  drawing  a  hypothetical  con 
elusion  concerning  the  nature  and  operations  of  the  umverse 
from  facts  which  lie  open  to  our  observation      It  is  quite 
competent  for  us,  however,  m  the  spirit  of'^e  Kantian 
philosophy,  to  give  to  the  human  soul,  with  its  inward 


144 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


experience,  the  first  and  most  important  place  amongst  all 
the  facts  of  this  nature.  But  it  is  ever  necessary  to  insist 
upon  clearness  and  logical  consecutiveness  in  regard  to 
these  relations.  The  idea  of  our  being  able  to  deduce  any 
process  of  cosmogony  from  a  central  theological  stand- 
point is  purely  delusive ;  so  that  absolutely  nothing  which 
depends  upon  these  suppositions,  or  is  deduced  from  these 
premises,  can  be  reckoned  as  the  result  of  a  true  philosophy, 
but  only  as  a  misty  deceptive  gnosis^  which  has  ever  been 
the  mother  of  destructive  errors,  just  because  it  is  only 
the  appearance  of  science,  and  not  science  itself.  However 
deep  or  expansive  philosophy  may  become,  this  necessary 
limit,  and  the  consciousness  of  it,  must  never  be  lost  sight  of. 

*  Starting,  then,  from  the  positive  facts  of  nature  and  the 
human  soul,  God  no  longer  appears  in  our  philosophy  as  a 
mere  cosmical  principle,  nor  a  mind  and  personality  abso- 
lutely considered,  but  as  a  being  who  manifests  essentially 
the  purest  qualities  of  personality,  a  being  holy  and  bene- 
ficent. Nor  can  the  most  inconsiderate  thinker  detect  here 
the  slightest  approach  to  anthropomorphism,  inasmuch  as 
he  will  be  met  by  the  reflection  that  the  divine  operation 
in  man  is  seen  exactly  in  this  fact,  that  he  possesses  in  his 
breast  a  spark  of  that  holy  feeling  by  means  of  which  the 
obduracy  of  his  own  selfishness  is  so  melted  as  to  evince 
the  superhuman  power  of  the  influence  that  operates  within 
him. 

*  The  idea  of  creation  presents  itself  quite  in  a  new  light 
when  once  brought  into  connection  with  these  views.  It  is 
no  single  problem  standing  on  a  level  with  many  others, 
but  it  summons  the  whole  bent  of  speculative  theology  to 
throw  light  upon  it,  and  to  bear  a  united  testimony  to  the 
existence  of  one  supreme  personality.  This  testimony  is 
forced  upon  us  by  the  necessity  of  admitting  in  the  universal 
order  and  connection  of  things  intelligent  agencies  as  their 
basis,  and  by  the  manifestation,  which  we  have  on  every 
side,  of  divine  beneficence  in  all  the  finite  arrangements  of 
the  world.  When,  therefore,  all  the  various  crude  theories 
of  God  and  the  world  have  one  by  one  disappeared  under 
the  evidence  of  this  one  great  idea,  then  the  aim  of  the 
whole  comes  mc  re  clearly  than  ever  to  view — that,  namely, 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Century,    145 


of  exhibiting  to  us  both  a  creator  and  a  creation  in  the  true 
and  genuine  sense,  and  of  showing  us  that  there  is  a 
perfectly  free  relationship  established  between  them,  which 
is  known  and  witnessed  not  by  means  of  uncertain  and 
shadowy  theories,  but  by  the  living  converse  of  the  divine 
and  the  human  spirit  in  the  depths  of  the  human  conscious- 
ness. 

The  philosophy  we  profess  is  not  ashamed  to  confess 
that  within  this  whole  sphere  of  inquiry  it  can  lay  no  claim 
to  absolute  mathematical  certitude,  just  because  \h^  material 
of  inquiry  goes  beyond  the  region  of  formal  or  logical 
necessity,  and  contains  a  specific  reality,  which  in  its  facts 
can  only  be  investigated  experimentally,  and  only  explained 
hypothetically  in  its  inner  causes.  Here,  as  in  the  experi- 
mental sciences,  speculation  can  only  draw  probable  con- 
clusions, and  frame  hypotheses  in  the  way  of  induction  and 
analogy.  In  these  hypotheses,  too,  we  ever  take  into 
account  the  exact  degree  of  inward  probability,  and 
endeavour  definitely  to  fix  the  exact  gradation  of  certainty 
which  we  can  give  to  our  deductions. 

If,  then,  the  problem  of  our  philosophy  in  this  first 
respect,  both  as  to  matter  and  form,  is  strictly  limited,  yet 
it  has,  on  the  other  hand,  in  reference  to  its  endless  details, 
a  most  unlimited  sphere  of  action.  It  divides  itself  into  a 
series  of  special  investigations,  which  uniformly  aim  more 
and  more  at  a  general  result,  and  which  for  this  very  reason 
do  not  exclude,  nay,  rather  expressly  include,  one  leading 
fundamental  thought — a  thought  which  can  never  be  said 
to  be  fully  exhausted,  because  the  material  bearing  upon  it 
is  of  infinite  extent.  Philosophy  as  universal  science  can 
never  be  completed^  though  as  ontology  it  may  be  brought 
to  a  termination ;  and  as  metaphysics  it  has  even  now 
probably  reached  its  highest  point,  just  because  the  interest 
of  the  subject  has  always  turned  the  human  mind  to  the 
great  question  of  the  possible  proof  for  the  existence  of  a 
God. 

I  need  hardly  say  how  certain  it  is  that  speculation,  when 
once  released  from  the  shackles  of  false  methods  and  pre- 
judices, must  start  on  a  new  career ;  while,  at  the  same 
time,  it  turns  back  again  to  that  free  method  of  investigation 

K 


I     i 


146 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


which  was  followed  by  all  great  thinkers,  such  as  Leibnitz, 
Lock,  Hume,  and  Kant,— men  who,  though  differing  in  their 
results,  yet  all  display  an  intellectual  relationship  in  this 
one  respect,  that  they  do  not  start  from  these  d.  priori 
opinions  and  formulas,  but  from  the  induction  and  deter- 
mination of  individual  facts. 

We  may  here  notice  that,  inseparably  connected  with  this 
theistic  view,  is  the  faith  in  a  divine  providence ;  and  that 
not  in  the  sense  of  a  mere  superintendence  of  those  general 
laws  which  lie  at  the  basis  of  the  stability  of  nature  and  the 
historic  life  of  man,  but  more  expressly  in  the  sense  of  a 
holy  and  benevolent  superintendence  of  human  destiny,  in 
relation  to  the  individual  affairs  of  each  separate  person. 
This  conviction  is  so  surely  the  goal  of  theism,  the  ripest 
and  most  refreshing  fruit  of  its  whole  course  of  thought, 
that  it  were  vain  to  attempt  to  separate  the  one  from  the 
other,  or  abate  the  least  particle  of  its  force  and  mean- 
ing. 

This  doctrine  cannot  either  be  regarded,  in  any  degree 
whatever,  as  the  mere  expression  of  a  childish  faith,  or  of 
an  undefined  wish,  which  further  investigation  shows  to  be 
groundless;  but  we  are  compelled  to  acknowledge  that, 
however  strange  it  may  appear  to  many  brought  up  in  the 
philosophical  abstractions  of  the  day,  the  idea  of  a  special 
providence  is  the  necessary  consequence  of  the  more  general 
notion  of  a  historical  providence,  and  must  stand  or  fall 
with  it.  In  the  province  of  history  there  is  nothing  specially 
great  or  small ;  it  is  only  our  inclination  and  partiality  which 
makes  it  either  the  one  or  the  other;  the  great  and  the 
universal  can  only  represent  the  unity  of  the  whole  plan  of 
the  world,  in  so  far  as  the  particular^  in  whose  complications 
it  is  really  involved,  completely  answers  to  it.  If,  therefore, 
there  is  an  order  in  the  universe  (for  which  all  the  facts  of 
nature  are  a  guarantee),  the  particular  must  form  part  and 
parcel  of  it.  It  is  providence  in  the  smallest  parts  which 
alone  can  make  good  the  whole.  History,  considered  out- 
wardly and  empirically,  is  no  other  than  the  sum  of  those 
small  events  in  which  the  general  plan  fulfils  itself;  accord- 
ingly, even  those  minute  arrangements  which  often  depend 
apparently  upon  our  arbitrary  actions  or  non-actions,  must 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Centtiry,    147 

really  be  governed  by  this  universal  superintending  power, 
without  our  being  able  to  comprehend  the  nature  of  the 
superintendence,  or  needing  any  experimental  certainty 
of  it. 

This  fact,  therefore,  stands  sure.  The  possibility  of  an 
individual  providence  in  history  must  be  assured  before 
we  can  trust  the  idea  of  a  universal  one,  not  the  reverse ; 
for  without  the  former,  the  latter  would  remain  unreal  and 
abstract — />.,  the  particular,  in  which  the  very  essence  of 
history  consists,  must  be  abandoned  to  chance  or  caprice. 
Such  a  mere  general  providence  we  see  actually  existing 
within  the  kingdom  of  nature;  and,  on  account  of  its 
generality,  we  hesitate  to  term  it  providence  in  a  peculiar 
sense.  In  nature  we  find  the  general  connection  of  things 
arranged  in  the  most  definite  way,  and  all  the  co-operating 
conditions  reckoned  on  in  the  most  wonderful  manner,  but 
still  only  for  i\\Q general  result.  This  is  done  in  the  inorganic 
world  in  order  to  preserve  the  equilibrium  between  the 
universal  powers  of  nature,  and  in  the  organic  world  in 
order  to  preserve  the  genera  and  species,  whilst  the  individual 
appears  left  indifferently  to  chance.  At  any  rate,  we  do  not 
find,  in  the  arrangements  of  nature,  any  trace  of  special 
care  for  the  individual.  But  for  this  very  reason  the  case 
must  be  altogether  different  with  man  and  his  history ;  for, 
as  has  been  shown  on  all  hands,  the  individual  holds  pre- 
cisely the  same  place  in  the  world  of  mind  which  in  the 
world  of  nature  is  allotted  to  the  species.  On  that  account 
the  law  of  his  life  is  a  higher  one.  He  exists  as  such  only 
once;  and  the  idea  according  to  which  he  is  planned  is 
not  scattered,  as  in  the  animal,  in  numberless  exemplars 
over  the  whole  surface  of  nature.  For  the  same  reason 
also,  and  just  because  new  minds  are  ever  appearing,  it  is  in 
the  power  of  man  to  weave  the  web  of  history ;  for  history 
brings  forward  continually  what  is  new,  and  thus  breaks 
in  upon  what  would  be  otherwise  the  uniform  course  of 
nature.  According  to  this  conclusion,  the  human  indivi- 
dual may  console  itself  with  this  most  bold  and  sublinie, 
but  yet  most  healing  faith,  that  there  watches  over  him 
a  most  special  providence  ;  that  he  stands  as  an  individual 
before  the  Eternal  Eye,   and  is  received  as  a  personality 


V 


148 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


into  thai  same  consciousness  which  embraces  and  orders  all 
things. 

So  far  Fichte.  Ulrici  is  par  excellence  the  critic  of  the 
school.  With  less  imagination  than  Fichte  possessed, 
and  far  less  tendency  to  a  spiritualistic  mysticism,  he  has 
developed  in  his  books,  as  well  as  in  his  contributions  to 
the  Journal^  a  critical  faculty  surpassed  by  no  writer  of  the 
present  day.  The  two  principal  works  on  which  his  reputa- 
tion as  a  philosopher  rests  are  entitled  respectively,  Gott 
und  die  Natur  and  Gott  und  der  Mensch.  Well  read  in  the 
elements  of  natural  philosophy  and  physiology,  Ulrici  has 
been  able  to  approach  all  the  great  metaphysical  questions 
regarding  the  world,  the  human  mind,  and  the  Creator,  from 
an  experimental  point  of  view.  So  far,  however,  from 
adopting  the  platform  of  positivism,  he  shows  how  we  are 
compelled,  by  the  most  rigid  and  consecutive  course  of 
logical  reasoning,  to  admit  the  reality  of  a  vital  force  in 
organization ;  a  soul  in  man  distinct  from  his  material 
frame ;  and  an  intellige?it  and  infinite  mindj  separate  from 
the  external  universe,  and  yet  immanent  in  all  its  parts. 

We  have  now  taken  a  brief  inventory  of  the  various 
philosophical  tendencies  of  Germany  since  the  commence- 
ment of  the  present  century,  and  can  at  length  sum  up  the 
result  in  a  few  words. 

The  opening  of  the  nineteenth  century  saw  the  Kantian 
philosophy  in  the  ascendant ;  and  for  the  first  ten  years  or 
more  it  was  publicly  taught  in  most  of  the  Universities,  as 
affording  the  true  solution  to  all  the  great  metaphysical 
questions  of  human  interest.  Now,  Kantism  is  only  taught 
there  as  a  portion  of  the  history  of  the  past. 

Fichte  and  Schelling  followed ;  and  the  eyes  of  the  more 
free  and  eager  amongst  the  philosophical  thinkers  of  that 
day  were  dazzled  for  a  while  with  the  subjective  idealism  of 
the  one  and  the  captivating  Natur-philosophie  of  the  other. 
But  though  both,  like  Kant  before  them,  left  their  mark 
upon  the  thought  of  the  country  and  the  age,  neither  have 
retained  any  school  of  followers,  and  are  only  expounded 
now  as  part  of  a  historical  survey. 

Next  came  Hegel,  with  his  enormous  power  of  systematic 
construction,  and  drew  all  the  idealistic  thought  of  the  day 


Y^ 


German  Philosophy  in  Nineteenth  Cefittcry.    149 

into  the  abstract  forms  of  his  dialectic  process.  But  the 
revolutions  which  began  in  1848  diverted  all  interest  from 
what  is  merely  abstract  and  speculative ;  and  Hegelism, 
lingering  out  a  feeble  existence  amongst  its  more  ardent 
supporters,  has  now  gradually  faded  away  from  the  schools 
of  learning,  and,  like  the  preceding  systems,  lives  only 
in  the  pages  of  the  many  histories  of  philosophy  with 
which  the  German  press  has  teemed  for  the  last  twenty 
years. 

Two  main  philosophical  tendencies  remain,  and  divide 
between  them  the  entire  philosophical  interest  of  the  country. 
On  the  one  side  stand  Schopenhauer  and  Hartman,  together 
with  the  sensational  school  of  Feuerbach,  Ruge,  and  the 
modem  materialists.  On  the  other  side  stand  the  school 
of  Fichte,  Ulrici,  and  the  Journal  of  Philosophy,  experi- 
mental in  its  method,  but  spiritualistic  in  its  tendencies  and 
results.  The  former  movement  is  purely  and  avowedly 
atheistic;  or,  avoiding  the  negative  expression,  we  may  term 
it  humanistic — that  is,  it  is  the  system  which  makes  man  the 
basis  and  purpose  of  existence.  The  latter  movement  is 
theistic,  regarding  God  not  only  as  the  architect  of  the 
universe,  but  as  the  moral  governor  of  the  world,  the  fountain 
of  all  law  and  goodness,  the  object  of  supreme  worship,  and 
the  final  purpose  of  all  creation. 

In  this  respect  the  present  position  of  Germany,  in  regard 
to  philosophy,  does  not  differ  greatly  from  what  we  see  in 
our  own  country.     Materialism  is  an  intellectual  ^ovfer  here 
as  well  as  there;  and  positivism,  as  it  has  developed  itself 
out  of  the  school  of  Mill  and  Comte,  occupies  much  the 
same  ground  that  humanism  occupies  in  Germany.     On  the 
other  hand,  we  have  also  our  spiritualistic  school ;  and  a 
theistic  philosophy,  which  maintains  the  existence  and  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  together  with  the  reality  of  a  divine 
moral  government,  is  still  taught  in  all  the  Universities  of 
the  United  Kingdom.     These,  in  fact,  are  the  two  opposite 
poles  of  thought  which  now  pervade  the  whole  length  and 
breadth  of  civilised  Europe ;   and   it  remains  to  be  seen 
which  will  establish  itself  as  the  philosophy  of  the  future. 
For  myself,  I  cannot  but  believe  that  the  religious  instincts, 
the  moral  yearnings,  the  irrepressible  desire  for  immortality, 


150 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


the  old  inextinguishable  belief  of  the  human  mind  in  God 
as  the  architect  of  the  world  and  the  governor  of  mankind, 
will  in  the  end  prevail  over  every  system  of  philosophy 
which  bounds  our  view  to  the  seen  and  temporal,  and  makes 
man  alone,  as  we  see  him,  the  end  and  the  law  of  his  own 
existence. 


PART    II. 


ME  TAPHYSICS 


(erkenntnisslehre). 


I 


t 


151 


PART    II. 


Theory  of  Human  Knowledge. 

I. 

THERE  is  no  branch  of  philosophical  inquiry  which, 
as  far  as  our  own  country  is  concerned,  appears  to 
me  in  so  unsatisfactory  a  state  as  the  fundamental  theory 
of  human  knowledge.  In  Germany  it  forms  a  distinct 
department  of  mental  science,  designated  by  the  term 
Erkennt7nsslehre ;  in  England,  on  the  contrary,  it  has 
rarely  appeared  of  late  years  as  a  distinct  subject  of  inves- 
tigation at  all,  but  has  been  usually  mixed  up  with  the 
general  procedure  of  logic,  psychology,  and  metaphysics. 

There  have  been  three  great  attempts  to  solve  the 
problem  of  human  knowledge  in  modern  times,  each  one 
of  which  forms  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  modern  philo- 
sophy. The  first  is  contained  in  Descartes'  Meditations^ 
the  second  in  Locke's  Essay  on  the  Human  Understandings 
the  third  in  Kant's  Critik  of  Pure  Reason.  All  three  of 
these  have  left  a  residuum  which  has  entered  into  the  whole 
fibre  of  modem  thought ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  they  each 
gave  special  impulses  to  speculation,  which,  in  less  cautious 
hands,  led  to  extreme  results.  Descartes'  philosophy 
developed  into  the  pantheistic  idealism  of  Spinoza,  Locke's 
into  the  materialistic  sensationalism  of  France,  and  Kant's 
into  the  abstractions  of  modem  German  metaphysics. 

The  want  of  a  master  mind,  like  that  of  Locke,  to  take 
up  the  thread  of  inquiry  in  England,  and  guide  us  through 
the  labyrinth  of  modern  speculation  into  some  definite 
conclusions,  is  now  seen  in  the  chaotic  state  of  opinion 
which  everywhere  prevails  as  to  the  primary  grounds  on 
which  all  our  fundamental  convictions  rest,  and  the  con- 

153 


154 


Philosophical  Fragme7its, 


sequent  want   of    confidence   in    the   groundwork  of  all 
philosophy. 

If  we  put  the  question,  On  what  is  based  our  knowledge 
of  the  material  world  ?  on  what  our  knowledge  of  mind  ?  on 
what  our  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  a  God  ?  on  what  our 
knowledge  of  mathematical  axioms  ?  on  what  our  knowledge 
of  the  fixed  laws  of  nature  or  the  ground  of  morals  ?  we 
either  get  no  replies  at  all,  or  replies  of  the  most  discordant 
kind.  Some  advocate  the  claims  of  sensation  as  a  ground 
of  knowledge,  and  some  intuition ;  some  point  to  a  list  of 
primary  beliefs,  some  to  the  light  of  pure  reason ;  some, 
again,  separate  the  whole  sphere  of  knowledge  into  depart- 
ments, and  apply  a  different  fundamental  principle  to  each. 
Thus  we  are  said  to  know  the  fact  of  a  material  world  by 
sensation  and  perception^  to  know  the  truth  of  the  axioms  of 
geometry  by  reason^  to  know  the  being  of  a  God  by  faith^ 
to  know  the  distinctions  of  right  and  wrong  by  moral 
intuition^  to  know  the  uniformity  of  nature  by  a  primary 
belief,  to  know  other  things  by  reasoning,  testimony, 
revelation,  as  the  case  may  be. 

Here,  perhaps,  we  find  one  of  our  foremost  natural 
philosophers  afl^rming  before  the  world  his  conviction  that 
we  can  know  matter  and  its  varied  relations,  and  that  we  can 
know  nothing  else  ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  advocates  of  the 
philosophy  of  experience,  treading  in  the  footsteps  of  John 
Mill,  declare  that  matter  is  wholly  unknowable,  since,  as 
fnatler,  it  can  never  come  within  the  range  of  experience  at 
all.  Sir  W.  Hamilton  proclaimed  ex  cathedra  the  relativity 
of  all  human  knowledge.  An  Oxford  professor  based  upon 
this  principle  a  demonstration  that  God  is  wholly  unknow- 
able to  the  human  faculties,  and  that  our  sole  refuge  for 
any  knowledge  of  the  Divine  is  revelation.  A  third  great 
thinker  of  the  age  takes  up  the  argument,  and  proves  that, 
without  a  previous  knowledge  of  God  gained  from  reason, 
revelation  itself  is  impossible.  And  so  the  student,  after 
following  the  highest  authorities  the  country  affords,  is 
left  after  all  in  a  perfect  chaos  of  mental  doubt  and 
confusion.     . 

Practically,  I  am  well  aware,  most  men  do  hold  to  their 
convictions   regardless   of  all   theory;   they  believe  in   a 


Tlieory  of  Human  Knowledge.  155 

material  world,  in  a  soul,  in  a  God,  but  no  thanks  to  the 
philosophy  of  the  age!  It  is  rather  in  spite  of  such 
philosophy  and  its  many  contradictions  that  our  convictions 
remain  firm  and  abiding.  Such  contradictions,  however, 
between  theory  and  practice  are  not  creditable  to  our 
powers  of  intellectual  analysis,  nor  do  they  conduce  to 
human  progress. 

As  there  are  no  fixed  principles  to  appeal  to  in  these 
matters,  the  majority  of  men  are  led  to  imagine  that  they 
knou*  to  be  true  whatever  their  mental  tendencies  induce 
them  to  thi?ik  so.  Some  years  ago  I  heard  a  celebrated 
English  ecclesiastic  preach  a  sermon  in  Rome,  the  main 
point  of  which  was  to  contrast  the  religious  certitude 
possessed  by  the  Protestant  and  the  Catholic  respectively. 
After  pointing  out  the  variations  existing  amongst  the 
former,  he  entered  upon  a  string  of  affirmations,  each  com- 
mencing with  the  formula,  *  We  know,' — *  We  know  that  our 
Church  is  infallible,'  '  We  know  that  its  dogmas  are  true,' 
*  We  know  that  its  constitution  is  divine,'  etc.  A  fine 
example,  I  thought  it,  of  the  tact  with  which  the  preacher 
knew  how  to  estimate  the  effect  of  downright  assertion 
(unaccompanied  by  a  single  particle  of  evidence)  upon 
minds  tending  to  believe,  but  having  no  fixed  principles 
to  guide  them  in  the  formation  of  their  convictions. 

From  instances  of  this  nature  (and  they  are  not  confined 
to  the  Catholic  Church)  we  have  an  illustration  of  the 
excessively  loose  manner  in  which  the  word  *  know '  is 
constantly  used.  Men  are  affirming  every  day  that  they 
know  a  hundred  things,  which  may,  indeed,  be  the  objects 
of  a  very  strong  belief,  but  which  can  never  be  matter  of 
knowledge  at  all.  Confounding  the  spheres  of  knowledge 
and  belief,  they  attribute  any  deviation  in  others,  from  what 
they  hold  to  be  truth,  to  mental  perverseness  or  moral 
delinquency,  and  visit  it  with  all  the  penalties  which  society 
will  sanction  or  admit.  Everything  around  us  tends  to 
show  that  there  is  nothing  more  important  for  the  peace  as 
well  as  the  welfare  of  society,  than  that  we  should  arrive  at  a 
clear  perception  of  what  we  really  can  know  and  what  we 
cannot.  It  is  to  this  end,  therefore,  that  the  following  pages 
are  mainly  devoted. 


156 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


II. 

What,  then,  is  knowledge  ?  and  when  may  we  be  said  to 
knmv  a  thing  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term  ?  I  need  hardly 
say  in  the  outset  that  to  have  an  idea  or  a  conception  of  a 
thing  does  not  imply  that  we  know  it  as  a  reality.  I  may 
have  the  idea  of  a  centaur  or  a  unicorn,  but  there  the 
matter  ends ;  there  is  no  knowledge  involved  beyond  the 
mere  mental  phenomenon  accompanying  it.  And  even  // 
there  be  some  objective  reality  connoted  by  our  ideas,  it 
does  not  follow  that  the  idea  involves  any  knowledge  of  that 
reality.  We  may  have  ideas  of  persons,  places,  and  things 
which  we  have  never  seen,  but  those  ideas  are  no  guarantee 
either  of  the  existence  of  the  objects  themselves,  or  of  our 
conception  of  their  being  accurate  and  real. 

I  may  have  my  ideas  of  a  town  in  Australia,  or  of  a 
public  man  in  France,  or  of  a  mountain  in  Switzerland  ; 
but  it  does  not  by  any  means  follow  that  these  ideas  are 
correct — in  other  words,  that  they  are  convertible  with  the 
term  knowledge.  Something  more  is  necessary  to  our  knoiu- 
ledge  of  a  thing  than  the  mere  fact  of  having  an  idea,  or 
any  number  of  ideas,  about  it. 

And  if  an  idea  or  conception  of  a  thing  falls  short  of 
knowledge,  so  also  does  a  belief  or  conviction.  The  evidence 
on  which  such  a  belief  or  conviction  rests  may  vary 
indefinitely  from  the  weakest  to  the  strongest,  but  it  is 
nei^er  convertible  with  knowledge.  Sometimes  it  is  im- 
measurably/«r  from  the  confines  of  knowledge,  sometimes 
separated  from  it  only  by  the  merest  film. 

We  return,  then,  to  the  question.  What  is  knowledge 
properly  so  called  ?  and  when  may  we  be  said  to  know  1  In 
place  of  giving  a  definition  (which  would  be  premature),  let 
us  take  examples  in  illustration.  I  know  that  I  have  sensa- 
tions of  pleasure  or  pain,  perceptions  of  what  seem  to  me 
external  objects,  emotions  of  joy  or  grief,  and  ideas  which 
come  and  go,  i.e.  pass  in  and  out  of  consciousness  for  no 
very  assignable  cause.  I  know  all  this,  because  in  each 
case  it  is  a  direct  experience  of  my  own  individual  self. 
This  knowledge  no  one  can  interfere  with,  no  one  can 
dispute ;  nothing  can  render  it  either  more  or  less  certain. 


Theory  of  Human  Knowledge.  1 5  7 

— it  is  a  fact  of  my  own  consciousness,  and  there  it  both 
begins  and  ends. 

But  let  us  go  a  step  farther.  If  I  say  I  know  that  this 
rose  is  beautiful,  what  does  the  knowledge  now  imply? 
First,  it  implies  that  I  have  the  perception  of  a  rose ;  and, 
secondly,  that  this  perception  is  accompanied  with  a  sense 
of  pleasure  as  the  result  of  merely  contemplating  it.  I  use 
the  term  perception  of  a  rose  without  meaning  to  involve 
any  particular  theory  of  what  perception  implies.  It  makes 
no  difference  whether  it  imply  the  presence  of  an  external 
object  termed  a  rose,  or  simply  a  mental  fact  which  we 
should  indicate  as  the  idea  or  conception  of  a  rose.  The 
externality  of  the  object  may  be  left  wholly  out  of  account 
in  enumerating  the  elements  of  which  our  knowledge  that 
the  rose  is  beautiful  consists.  The  sentiment  of  beauty 
does  not  depend  on  the  fact  of  the  external  object  being 
really  present :  I  can  feel  it  as  vividly  when  I  dream  that  a 
rose  is  present  with  me  as  I  can  in  my  waking  state.  The 
beauty  resides  in  the  whole  combination  of  elements — form, 
colour,  odour,  freshness,  grace — which  go  to  form  the  entire 
idea ;  but  these  elements  can  all  be  present  to  the  mi7id^  all 
realized  in  the  conception^  without  the  presence  of  any  external 
objects  at  all.  Our  knowledge,  then,  of  the  fact  that  a  rose 
is  beautiful  is  purely  ideal^  purely  subjective ;  it  is  simply 
the  knowledge  that  a  certain  combination  of  ideas  respecting 
form,  colour,  grace,  etc.  is  always  accompanied — to  me,  at 
least — by  a  feeling  of  pleasure  which  I  call  beauty.  Every- 
thing here  belongs  to  the  world  of  mind,  and  that  only. 
Sweep  away  every  rose  in  existence,  let  the  snows  of  winter 
banish  them  wholly  from  the  world  of  reality,  and  yet  the 
knowledge  that  a  rose  is  beautiful  remains  equally  clear, 
equally  sure. 

But  could  we  have  had  this  knowledge  that  a  rose  is 
beautiful  if  we  had  never  seen  a  rose  ?  Most  assuredly. 
Schiller,  when  he  wrote  the  Wilhehn  Tell.,  had  never  seen 
Switzerland ;  and  yet  he  not  only  knew  that  the  Lake  of  the 
Four  Cantons,  as  he  imagined  it,  was  a  scene  of  beauty  from 
the  picture  formed  of  it  in  his  imagination,  but  he  could  so 
describe  it  as  to  excite  the  emotion  of  beauty  in  others.  We 
may  affirm,  in  a  word,  that  all  our  knowledge  in  the  whole 


158 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


sphere  of  aesthetics  is  purely  ideal,  in  no  way  depending 
upon  the  existence  of  an  external  world.  We  know  that 
certain  things  are  beautiful  to  us,  because  certain  ideas  and 
combinations  of  ideas  are  invariably  connected  in  our  own 
mental  nature  with  some  kind  of  pleasurable  emotion.  This 
is  knowledge  at  first  hand,  which  requires  no  proof,  and  is 
not  subject  to  any  kind  of  refutation.  Argue  against  it  as 
we  may,  the  fact  remains  ever  the  same. 

Let  us  take  another  example  from  the  department  of 
mathematics.  We  know  perfecdy  well  that  two  straight  lines 
cannot  enclose  a  space.  What  is  included,  then,  in  this 
knowledge  ?  First  of  all,  we  must  have  a  conception  of  a 
straight  line ;  then,  secondly,  we  must  have  a  conception  of 
what  is  meant  by  space ;  and,  thirdly,  we  must  come  to  the 
conclusion,  by  a  definite  act  of  our  own  reason,  that  no  por- 
tion of  space  can  be  wholly  bounded  by  two  straight  lines. 
We  cannot  say  that  this  is  knowledge  at  first  hand,  or  that 
it  is  given  in  an  immediate  experience.  The  ideas  of  a 
straight  line,  and  of  space,  indeed  come  to  us,  as  the  mind 
developes  in  connection  with  the  world  around,  quite  spon- 
taneously. They  spring  up  without  any  conscious  effort  on 
our  part.  And  then  the  fact  that  two  straight  lines  cannot 
include  a  space  follows  inevitably  from  the  ideas  themselves 
as  soon  as  we  begin  to  turn  them  round  in  our  minds  and 
note  their  relations  to  one  another.  Thus,  though  the  fact 
may  not  present  itself  at  once,  yet  it  is  virtually  included 
in  the  ideas  themselves,  and  is  recognised  as  necessarily 
following  from  them  as  soon  as  it  is  pointed  out. 

There  is  this  difference,  however,  between  the  mathematical 
and  aesthetic  conceptions,  that  the  former  are  fixed  and 
constant,  while  the  latter  are  ever  varying.  An  object 
appears  more  beautiful  at  one  time  than  another,  more 
beautiful  to  one  person  than  to  another — nay,  even  beautiful 
at  one  time  and  not  beautiful  at  another.  Many  things 
tend  to  modify  the  sense  of  pleasure  we  derive  from  the 
contemplation  of  a  beautiful  object.  Time,  place,  associa- 
tions, surrounding  circumstances — all  exert  an  influence  in 
this  direction.  But  when  we  turn  to  our  mathematical 
perceptions,  we  find  that  no  such  modifications  and  altera- 
tions are  possible  ;  they  are  clear,  definite,  sharply  defined, 


Tfieory  of  Human  Kiiowledge,  159 

fixed,  unalterable.  What  is  true  once,  we  find  to  be  true 
always.  What  is  tnie  with  me,  we  find  to  be  true  to  every 
one  else.  What  this  fixity  and  uniformity  may  arise  from 
remains  to  be  discovered ;  suflSce  it  to  say  for  the  present, 
that  the  conceptions  themselves  are  purely  subjective. 
Whether  they  be  awakened  by  outward  things  or  not, 
they  certainly  do  not  depend  upon  them  for  their  reality. 
Mathematical  symbols  are  never  perfect,  never  a  complete 
representation  of  the  mental  conceptions.  We  cannot  see 
or  feel  a  line  or  a  point  or  a  figure  exactly  as  it  is  conceived 
by  the  mind;  they  are  things  of  the  reason,  not  of  the 
senses,  and  the  truth  regarding  them  is  rational  and  not 
sensational.  Thus,  whatever  we  may  be  said  to  kno7v  within 
the  range  of  mathematics  is  knowledge  given  in  our  sub- 
jective conceptions,  or  flowing  from  those  conceptions  by 
purely  subjective  processes  of  reasoning.  We  have  taken 
two  examples  of  what  is  meant  by  knowing,  selected  from 
two  of  the  most  opposite  regions  of  human  experience. 
They  agree,  however,  in  one  point — namely,  in  the  fact  of 
the  knowledge  being  purely  subjective  both  in  its  nature  and 
evidence.  Let  us  go  now  to  another  region  of  a  wholly 
different  kind — I  mean  that  of  theology.  The  fundamental 
assertion  which  underlies  all  theology,  and  on  which  it 
entirely  rests,  is  the  assertion  '  that  there  is  a  God.'  Most 
men  hold  the  truth  of  this  assertion  with  the  most  complete 
conviction,  and  regard  it  as  an  element  of  human  knowledge 
to  which  no  rational  doubt  can  attach.  Let  us  see,  then, 
what  is  contained  in  this  assertion  ;  or  rather,  what  is  really 
implied  when  I  say  I  kno^v  that  there  is  a  God. 

First  of  all,  it  certainly  implies  that  I  have  the  conception 
of  a  God  internally— that  is,  that  I  can  represent  to  myself 
an  all-wise,  all-powerful,  and  holy  being,  who  has  once 
created,  and  who  now  conserves,  all  things.  But  the  mere 
conception  of  such  a  being  does  not  carry  us  far  into  the 
domain  of  theology.  There  are  numbers  of  things  which 
I  call  represent  to  myself  without  regarding  them  as  really 
existing.  The  assertion  we  are  now  analyzing,  however, 
not  only  involves  the  conception  of  a  God,  but  it  also 
declares  His  existence  out  of,  and  apart  from,  ourselves. 
But  here,  again,  we  are  met  with  the  fact  that  to  conceive 


i6o 


Philosophical  Fragme7its. 


of  a  being  as  existing  does  not  really  involve  or  prove  his 
existence.  The  Greeks  in  the  Homeric  age  conceived 
of  Minerva,  Venus,  Jupiter,  etc.,  as  really  existing;  the 
Scandinavians  regarded  Thor  and  Woden  as  veritable 
deities;  the  Hindoos  regard  Brahma  as  a  really  existing 
deity  ;  but  it  does  not  follow  from  these  human  conceptions 
that  Minerva,  Venus,  Jupiter,  Thor,  Woden,  and  Erahma 
are  real  existences,  or  that  they  are  anything  more  than  the 
creations  of  the  human  imagination  at  certain  periods  of 
time,  and  under  certain  circumstances.  And  so  it  is  with  our 
conceptions  of  God.  We  may  conceive  of  Him  as  existing; 
but  this  does  not  carry  with  it  any  proof  of  His  existence. 
The  affirmation,  *  I  know  that  there  is  a  God,'  impHes  some- 
thing further ;  it  implies  that,  over  and  above  the  conception 
of  Him  as  existing,  we  possess  sufficient  reason  for  holding 
His  existence  to  be  an  objective  reality.  What  this  sufficient 
reason  may  consist  in  is  very  variously  regarded ;  but  what- 
ever it  may  be,  it  implies  that  overwhelming  evidence  exists 
that  this  evidence  is  not  individual,  like  the  knowledge  of 
the  beautiful,  nor  merely  subjective,  like  the  rational  evidence 
of  mathematical  propositions,  but  that  it  has  also  an  objec- 
tive validity,  bringing  us  to  the  knowledge  of  a  reality  out  of 
ourselves. 

The  question,  therefore,  next  comes,  Whether  we  do  really 
possess  any  evidence  of  this  nature ;  and,  if  so,  where  is  the 
point  at  which  the  transition  takes  place  from  the  subjective 
to  the  objective  side  of  the  case  ?  The  conception  of  a  God 
is  in  itself  certainly  purely  subjective;  and  not  only  so,  but 
to  a  large  extent  personal  and  emotive.  If  we  could  com- 
pare the  conceptions  entertained  by  a  number  of  individuals, 
we  should  find  scarcely  any  more  uniformity  amongst  them 
than  in  the  perceptions  of  beauty.  Then,  next,  the  con- 
ception of  a  God  as  existing  is,  after  all,  only  a  conception. 
We  may  conceive  of  a  thousand  things  as  existing,  and 
really  believe  them  to  exist,  while  they  may  turn  out  to  be 
non-existent  after  all.  Then,  thirdly,  as  regards  the  ground 
or  evidence  of  the  existence  of  a  God,  all  this  ground  and 
all  this  evidence  is  simply  a  subjective  process  of  the  human 
reason.  Take  the  well-known  argument  from  causality. 
The  universe  around  us  is  a  fact,  a  stupendous  effect ;  but 


Theory  of  Human  Knowledge.  1 6 1 

every  effect  must  have  a  sufficient  cause.  The  sole  sufficient 
cause  of  such  an  effect  is  God.  This  argument  is  true 
enough  and  forcible  enough  so  long  as  it  represents  merely 
a  necessary  sequence  of  ideas,  but  shows  us  no  logical 
passage  from  the  ideas  to  the  reality  itself.  We  need  not 
reproduce  the  chain  of  reasoning  by  which  Hume  showed 
the  principle  of  causality  to  be  merely  a  subjective  process, 
or  the  still  more  exhaustive  chain  of  reasoning  by  which 
Kant  showed  that  it  is  merely  one  of  the  regulative 
principles  of  pure  reason,  and  cannot  be  taken  as  proving 
an  objective  reaUty  without  landing  us  in  absolute  con- 
tradictions. All  we  need  to  do  is  to  point  out  that, 
according  to  the  highest  philosophical  authority,  whatever 
the  sense  perceptions  may  do,  the  reason  alone  cannot 
furnish  us  with  a  clear  logical  proof  of  any  existence  out 
of  itself 

We  find,  accordingly,  in  all  the  various  departments  of 
knowledge  to  which  we  have  referred,  simply  a  variation 
of  human  experience  in  connection  with  purely  ititernal 
phenomena.  In  the  region  of  aesthetics,  our  knowledge  is 
wholly  individual.  We  know  a  thing  to  be  beautiful  simply 
because  we  feel  it  to  be  so.  In  the  case  of  mathematical 
propositions,  the  knowledge  involved  is  of  a  fixed  and 
invariable  character,  and,  in  place  of  being  dependent  on 
our  own  individual  emotions,  is  found  to  be  uniform  in 
the  case  of  others  as  well  as  ourselves.  In  theology  the 
elements  involved  are,  again,  different.  The  knowledge 
we  seem  to  possess  is  neither  wholly  personal  on  the  one 
hand,  nor  fixed  or  invariable  on  the  other ;  but  it  contains 
a  special  factor  different  from  both — that,  namely,  of  repre- 
senting the  object  of  our  conception  as  an  outward  reality, 
which  exists  quite  apart  from  our  own  reason  or  conscious- 
ness. But,  notwithstanding  this  peculiar  objective  feature, 
when  we  analyze  the  elements  of  which  the  knowledge 
consists,  they  are  found  to  appertain,  just  as  much  as  all 
the  rest,  to  the  region  of  inward  phenomena.  If  we  press 
the  inquiry,  What  is  the  conception  of  a  supreme  being? 
what  is  the  conception  of  a  thing  as  existing!  what  is  the 
evidence  of  its  existence  ?  what  the  belief  in  its  existence  ? 
— all  is  ideal  together ;  real  enough  as  mental  phenomena, 

L 


l62 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


but  utterly  insufficient  to  furnish  us  with  a  positive  pathway 
to  the  actual  reality  beyond. 

Having  thus  far  prepared  the  way,  we  come  now  to 
a  department  of  knowledge  which  is  regarded  rightly  as 
the  crucial  point  between  idealism  and  realism — I  mean 
our  knowledge  of  what  is  termed  the  external  world. 
When  I  say  I  knoiu  that  this  table  on  which  I  am  writing 
exists,  what  are  the  elements  which  enter  into  this  specific 
kind  of  knowledge  ?  First  of  all,  I  have  the  conception  of 
a  table ;  but  when  I  speak  of  this  table  on  which  I  am 
writing,  I  experience  a  mental  state  quite  different  from  the 
general  conception  of  a  table.  I  have  what  is  termed  the 
perception  of  a  present  object,  a  kind  of  experience  which 
consciously  differs  from  that  which  I  possess  of  the  beauty 
of  an  object,  of  a  mathematical  axiom,  or  of  a  supreme 
being.  The  evidence  of  an  external  reality  is  borne  in 
upon  me  in  the  case  of  the  perception  referred  to  in  a 
manner  quite  different  from  what  it  is  in  the  three  cases 
already  analyzed.  We  must  look  somewhat  closely,  there- 
fore, into  the  nature  and  contents  of  what  is  termed 
perception,  and  see  what  is  the  kind  of  knowledge  we 
derive  from  it. 

Now,  the  perception  of  a  table,  I  need  hardly  say,  is  not 
synonymous  with  the  table  itself  By  the  one  we  signify, 
popularly,  a  mental  representation  of  the  external  object,  a 
representation  more  or  less  perfect ;  by  the  other  we  mean 
the  substantial  objective  reality  itself,  regarded,  at  least,  as 
such  by  all  men  in  the  ordinary  common-sense  view  of  the 
case.  The  second  element  entering  into  our  knowledge  of 
an  external  object,  therefore,  is  just  the  same  as  what  we 
have  already  noted  in  the  case  of  a  divine  person.  We 
regard  the  object  of  our  mental  representation  as  an  actual 
existence  out  of  ourselves, — a  conviction  which  certainly 
accompanies  our  sense  perceptions  with  well-nigh  constant 
uniformity. 

This  mere  conviction,  however,  is  not  sufficient  to  warrant 
us  in  saying  we  have  a  positive  knowledge  of  the  external 
world.  The  third  element  before  adduced  has  still  to  be 
added—that  is  to  say,  there  must  be  some  sufficient  reason 
on  which  our  conviction  rests ;  for  the  validity  of  a  mere 


Theory  of  Human  Knowledge,  163 

mental  conviction  must  not  be  taken  for  granted  without 
some  other  ground  to  go  upon.  There  are  many  cases  in 
which  the  conviction  turns  out  to  be  palpably  untrue. 
What,  for  example,  can  be  more  vivid,  or  carry  with  it  a 
stronger  conviction  of  reality,  than  the  representation  we 
often  have  of  external  things  in  our  dreams  ?  and  yet  this 
representation  turns  out  after  a  time  to  be  a  mere  delusion. 
Nor  are  such  delusions  confined  to  our  sleeping  state.  Our 
senses  deceive  us  in  a  hundred  different  ways,  and  have  to 
be  constantly  corrected  by  the  critical  reason.  Nay,  when 
we  go  into  an  accurate  analysis  of  human  convictions,  we 
find  that  in  many  things  men  fall  under  well-nigh  universal 
delusions  until  they  are  set  right  by  the  progress  of  science. 
Take  as  an  example  the  case  of  colour.  Is  it  not  con- 
sidered certain  by  the  mass  of  mankind  that  colour  exists 
objectively  as  a  phenomenon  of  the  outer  world, — that  one 
thing  is  essentially  white,  another  green,  another  blue,  and 
so  forth, — and  that  if  there  were  no  eye  to  observe,  the 
colour  would  continue  to  exist,  just  as  an  external  object 
would  without  any  percipient  mind  ?  And  yet  nothing  is 
more  demonstrable  than  that  such  is  not  the  case, — that 
colour,  on  the  other  hand,  is  no  objective  reality,  but  that 
it  merely  arises  from  the  mutual  relations  of  the  object,  of 
the  rays  of  light  proceeding  from  it,  and  the  stmcture  of 
the  eye. 

III. 

This  brings  us,  therefore,  to  inquire.  What  is  the  ground 
on  which  our  knowledge  of  an  external  world  rests,  and 
where  are  we  to  find  the  sufficient  reason  for  holding  our 
conviction  of  it  to  be  perfectly  valid  ? 

The  most  immediate  answer  to  the  question  is  undoubt- 
edly this^  that  the  conviction  of  the  reality  of  external 
things  is  an  instinctive  dictate  of  common  sense — common 
sense  being  an  equivalent  expression  for  the  universal  belief 
of  mankind.  But  is  this  common  sense  to  be  implicitly 
trusted?  Certainly  not.  There  are  numerous  cases  in 
which  co7nmon  sense  has  led  mankind  universally  to  believe 
a  thing  as  undoubtedly  true,  which  science  and  criticism 
have  afterwards  proved  to  be  false.     Common  sense,  for 


164 


Philosophical  Fragmoits. 


example,  long  entertained  the  universal  belief  that  the  sun 
rises  and  sets  every  day.  Science  has  had  to  correct  this 
belief  and  explain  the  phenomena  on  quite  another  principle. 
So,  generally,  common  sense  will  serve  sufficiently  as  a 
practical  guide  for  human  life,  but  will  not  hold  good  as 
a  test  and  basis  of  human  knmvledge,  strictly  so  called. 

Let  us  see,  for  example,  how  the  verdict  of  common  sense 
in  relation  to  the  external  world   has  fared  at  the  hands  of 
the  most  acute  and  renowned  philosophical  thinkers.     The 
two  great  modern  schools  of  philosophical  thought  are  the 
idealistic  and  the  sensational.     Descartes  may  be  regarded 
as  the  head  of  the  former ;  and  his  great  effort  from  the 
first  was  to  find  out  what  we  can  positively  know,  and  what 
we  cannot.     He  shows  that  it  is  a  universal  delusion   to 
suppose  that  we  can  know  anything  positively  beyond  the 
direct  modification  of  our  own  mind  and  the  conclusions 
logically  drawn  therefrom.     But  there  is  no  species  of  logic  by 
which  we  can  reason  from  the  subjective  impression  to  the 
outward  reality.     The  one   has   no   necessary   connection 
with  the  other.    His  only  refuge  was,  therefore,  to  appeal  to 
the   divine   veracity,  and  affirm  the  existence  of  external 
things   as  we  experience   them,  on  the   ground   that  the 
Deity  cannot  deceive  us  in  implanting  these  natural  beliefs. 
The  certainty  of  the  external  world,  therefore,  rests  on  the 
certainty   of  the   existence  and  moral   attributes  of  God, 
which,  we  have  already  seen,  are  impressions  quite  as  sub- 
jective as   any  others,   and  which  do  not  therefore  carry 
with  them  the  guarantee  of  outward  existence.     Berkeley's 
argument  on  the  subject  was  far  more  logical.     It  is  ad- 
mitted by  all,  he  argued,  that  all  we  know  of  the  external 
world  is  derived  from  impressions  made  upon  or  existing 
within  our  own  minds.     These  impressions  we  know,  but 
how  do  we  know  that  anything  exists  outwardly  to  which 
they  correspond?    An  outward  thing  cannot,  in  fact,  by 
any  possibility  resemble  an  inward  impression ;  the  two,  if 
they  co-existed,  would   be   wholly  different  in  their  very 
nature.     Yet  if  material  things  do  not  resemble  the  ideas  we 
have  of  them,  what  notion  can  we  form  of  them,  or  what 
conception  can  we  have  of  matter  at  all,  independently  of  our 
ideas  ?    The  conclusion  was  that  we  have  no  evidence  of 


Theory  0/  Human  Knowledge,  165 

the  existence  of  matter  at  all,  and  that  what  we  term  the 
material  world  is,  strictly  speaking,  a  divine  arrangement 
for  adapting  the  world  to  our  own  spiritual  existence. 
Hume  took  precisely  the  same  view  of  the  subject,  only 
leaving  the  divinity  out  of  the  question. 

It  was  this  form  of  scepticism  that  roused  Kant  from 
his  dogmatic  slumbers,  and  determined  him  to  probe  the 
foundations  of  human  knowledge  anew.  Starting  from  the 
standpoint  of  experience,  he  accounted  for  all  the  relations 
of  time  and  space,  showed  how  our  notions  of  the  material 
are  formed  and  developed,  and  laid  bare  the  whole  process 
by  which  we  gain  a  complete  system  of  human  truth  ;  but, 
after  all,  the  material  world  remained  to  him  a  mystery. 
For  the  phenofnenal  world  he  could  fully  account ;  but  as 
to  the  e?ts  realissimum,  the  noufnenon,  the  Ding  an  Sich, 
this  was  an  insoluble  remainder  which  defied  all  analysis, 
and  could  never  enter  within  the  limits  oi  knowledge  at  all. 
In  all  the  modern  systems  of  idealism  which  have  de- 
veloped themselves  out  of  the  Kantian  school,  the  same 
conclusion  appears  in  different  forms.  *  The  Me '  and  the 
*  Not  me '  of  Fichte ;  the  '  subject-object '  of  Schelling  ;  the 
world  -  process  of  Hegel ;  the  Willens  -  bestimnmngen  of 
Schopenhauer;  'the  unconscious'  of  Hartman, — all  are 
different  ways  by  which  our  ignorance  of  the  world  of 
reality  is  veiled  and  disguised,  and  the  only  conclusion  to 
which  they  all  lead  is  that,  logically  considered,  we  can 
know  our  own  impressions,  ideas,  and  mental  processes, 
but  that  we  can  know  nothing  positively  beyond  them. 

And  if  we  turn  from  the  idealistic  to  the  sensational 
school  of  philosophy,  the  same  result  meets  us  in  another 
form.  The  outcome  of  the  whole  school  of  positivism,  as 
far  as  our  knowledge  of  the  external  world  goes,  may  be 
summed  up  in  the  following  words  of  one  of  its  most 
eminent  advocates : — '  The  conviction  that  human  intelli- 
gence is  incapable  of  absolute  knowledge  is  one  that  has 
been  slowly  gaining  ground  as  civilisation  has  advanced. 
Each  new  ontological  theory,  from  time  to  time  propounded 
in  lieu  of  previous  ones  shown  to  be  untenable,  has  been 
followed  by  a  new  criticism  leading  to  a  new  scepticism. 
All  possible  conceptions  have  been  one  by  one  tried  and 


i66 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


found  wanting ;  and  so  the  entire  field  of  speculation  has 
been  gradually  exhausted  without  positive  result,  the  only 
result  arrived  at  being  the  negative  one  above  stated,  that 
the  reahty  existing  behind  all  appearances  is,  and  ever 
must  be,  unknown:  To  this  conclusion  almost  every 
thinker  of  note  subscribed.  And  again :  *  Matter,  in  its 
ultimate  nature,  is  as  absolutely  incomprehensible  as  space 
and  time.  Frame  what  suppositions  we  may,  we  find,  in 
tracing  out  their  complications,  that  they  leave  us  nothing 
but  a  choice  between  opposite  absurdities.' 

To  what,  then,  does  our  analysis  of  the  fact  of  knowing 
lead  ?     To  this,  that  whatever  be  the  sphere  to  which  our 
knowledge  relates,  it  always  begins  with  a  direct,  immediate 
mental  representation  of  the  object.     In  some  cases  it  goes 
no   further  than  this.      Thus,  I  know  that  an  object   is 
beautiful  by  the  direct  intuition  of  it  as  such ;   in  other 
words,  I  form  a  mental  representation  of  a  thing  which 
produces  pleasure  simply  by  the  contemplation  of  it,  and 
this  IS  what  I  mean  by  its  being  beautiful.    Whether  it  may 
produce  the  same  pleasure  in  others,  I  do  not  know  a  priori. 
This  is  a  matter  to  be  learned  by  experience ;  and  in  pro- 
portion to  the  numbers  to  whom  I  find  the  same  pleasurable 
emotion  extends,  I  know  that  the  object  may  be  termed 
beautiful  not  merely  to  myself,  but  to  the  world  at  large. 
The  only  positive  knowledge,  however,  is  that  which  follows 
from   the   immediate   intuition   of   the   object    to   myself 
individually.     Again,  we  know  that  we  possess  a  mathe- 
matical  idea   by  the   same   process  of  direct,   immediate 
intuition.     No  supposition  of  any  external  reality  is  at  all 
necessary  to  account  for  it ;  it  is  a  direct  inward  experi- 
ence, which  nothing  can  invalidate  and  nothing  destroy. 
Moreover,  on  the  supposition  that  the  intellectual  faculties 
of  others  are  the  same  as  our  own,  we  affirm  this  axiom  as 
a  fixed  unalterable  concept  to  be  as  essential  to  them  as  to 
us.     But  the  latter  is  a  conclusion  which  cannot  stand  on 
the  same  platform  of  direct  evidence  as  the  former,  and 
which,  indeed,  can  only  be  finally  substantiated  by  sub- 
sequent investigation. 

If  we  look  next  at  the  fundamental  fact  of  theology,— the 
existence  of  a  God,— how  does  the  matter  stand  with  regard 


Theory  of  Human  Knowledge,  1 6  7 

to  our  knowledge  here  ?     That  I  form  inwardly  for  myself 
the  conception  of  a  supreme  being  is  undoubted.     I  know, 
at  any  rate,  that  such  a  conception  exists,  because  it  is  a  part 
of  my  own  inward  experience.     Nor  is  this  all.     I  form  the 
conception  of  a  supreme  being  as  an  objective  existence  ; 
and  this  also  I  know  as  an  immediate  certainty.     But  the 
fact  that   I  form  the  conception   of  a  supreme  being  as 
existing,  does  not  involve  any  proof  that  such  a  being  does 
actually  exist  out  of  and  beyond  my  own  conceptions.     For 
that  I  must  have  evidence  of  an  objective  nature.     What, 
then,   is  that  evidence?     Is  it  faith?     But   faith  is  only 
subjective  representation,— it  involves  an  inward  idea,  but 
no  more.     Is  it  reason  ?— reason  assuring  me  that  every 
effect  must  have  an  adequate  cause,  and  that  no  cause  is 
adequate  to  the  structure  of  the  universe  but  an  infinite 
power  and  an  infinite  intelligence?     But  what,  after  all,  is 
reason  but  a  mental  fact  which  can  never  guarantee  the 
objective  validity  of  its  conclusions  ?    And  how  can  the  law 
of  causality  assure  me  that  because  one  thing  exists,  there- 
fore  another   thing  wholly  different  must  exist  likewise? 
And  if  there  must  be  a  cause  for  everything  existing,  what 
is  the  cause  of  the  infinite  power  and  intelligence  that 
constructed  the  world?     We  cannot  reason  objectively  about 
a  first  cause  without   involving  ourselves  in  paralogisms 
which  invalidate  every  conclusion  to  which  the  reason  alone 

can  lead  us.  •    .  i. 

The  only  thing  we  positively  >^«^^,  therefore,  is  that  we  have 
the  conception  of  a  God,  and  that  we  conceive  of  Him  as 
existing.  However  strong  may  be  our  faith  in  a  supreme 
being,  our  actual  knowledge  goes  no  farther  than  this. 

Lastly,  with  regard  to  the  external  world,  what  we  actually 
knmv  is  that  we  possess  an  infinite  number  of  sense 
perceptions ;  but  how  far  they  are  the  exact  counterparts 
of  any  existing  reality,  of  this  we  are  altogether  ignorant. 
We  may  believe  that  they  are  so,  and  we  may  act  upon  that 
belief,  but  we  cannot  affirm  that  we  know  it.  Knowledge 
in  this  case,  as  in  all  the  others,  does  not  go  beyond  the 
actual  phenomena  of  which  we  are  inwardly  conscious. 
To  these  we  are  shut  up  within  a  circle,  which  no  logic 
enables  us  to  break  through. 


i68 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Whatever  be  the  system  of  philosophy  we  adopt,  this  is 
the  ultimate  conclusion  to  which  we  logically  arrive.     The 
contest  as  to  the  basis  of  human  knowledge  has  been  going 
on  from  the  time  of  Plato,  and  is  not  yet  decided.     The 
reason  is  that  neither  the  one  system  nor   the   other   is 
capable   of  proving   its   thesis   demonstratively.     Realism 
attempts  to  show  the  passage  from  thought  to  being,  from 
the  subjective  to  the  objective,  but  fails  to  find  any  path- 
way  which    strict    logic   can   accept.      In   attempting   to 
explam  everything  on  the  experience  hypothesis,  it  turns 
out  that  experience  itself,  strictly  interpreted,  never  carries 
us  beyond  actual  mental  phenomena ;  so  that  realism,  on  its 
own  principle,  falls  back  into  idealism.    But  idealism,  in  its 
turn,  fares  no  better.     Starting  from  reason,  thought,  inner 
consciousness,    it   seeks  to  interpret  the  world  from  this 
pomt  of  view,  and  in  its  course  becomes  involved  in  a  maze 
of  logical  doubts  and  paralogisms. 

But   now   comes   the   great   point   we   have   mainly   to 
consider.     Spite  of  all  we  have  said,  the  world  practically 
arrives  at  realism  without  the  aid  of  philosophy  either  in  one 
form  or  the  other,  and  is  troubled  with  no  doubts  whatever 
as  to  the  reality  of  the  knowledge  which  it  possesses  of  the 
external  world.     As,  therefore,  the  human  reason  is  one  and 
the  same, — whether  in  its  spontaneous  or  its  more  reflective 
operations,— it  becomes  an  object  of  interest   to  inquire 
how  it  is  that  sponta^ieously  men  are  realists  without  being 
troubled  with  any  doubts  or  difficulties,  whilst  reflectivety 
and    philosophically   they   are   driven   into   an   invincible 
scepticism,  out  of  which  no  pathway  is  visible?     The  most 
obvious  reason  to  be  assigned  for  this  phenomenon  is  that 
the  ordinary  method  of  philosophy  must  be  diff"erent  from 
the  method  of  nature,  as  they  lead  to  such  opposite  results. 
Is  It  possible,  then,  to  find  out  what  the  method  of  nature 
really  is,  and  by  what  hidden  process  it  is  that  the  world— 
the  world  of  spontaneous  thought  and  action— uniformly 
arrives  at  the  same  realistic  result  ?    To  dive  into  the  depths 
of  the  human  intelligence,  in  its  earliest  and  most  spon- 
taneous form,  and  to  lay  bare  the  hidden  processes  by 
which  our  most  primitive  ideas  are  formed,  is  a  matter  of 
no  httle  difficulty.     There  is  one  principle,  however,  to 


Theory  of  Human  Knowledge,  169 

guide  us  in  doing  so ;  and  that  is  that  the  human  intelli- 
gence must  be  one  and  the  same  through  all  its  different 
phases,  and  must  be  governed  in  its  operations  funda- 
mentally by  the  same  laws  of  evidence.  In  investigating, 
therefore,  the  more  hidden  processes  of  the  human  mind, 
we  can  be  greatly  aided  by  watching  those  more  mature 
processes  which  lie  patent  before  us,  and  can  be,  com- 
paratively speaking,  easily  analyzed.  Before  we  ask, 
therefore,  how  the  world  arrives  at  realism,  it  is  well  for 
us  to  ask  how  the  world  arrives  at  any  assignable  truth 
whatever. 

No  one  will  be  disposed  to  deny  that  there  are  certain 
departments,  such  as  mathematics  and  physical  science,  in 
which  we  have  arrived  at  a  body  of  ascertained  and  acknow- 
ledged truth.  How,  then,  has  this  been  accomplished? 
The  ancient  philosophers  attempted  to  accomplish  it  in  the 
same  way  as  the  modern  philosophers  have  proceeded  in 
the  department  of  metaphysics.  They  attempted  to  do  it 
by  the  force  of  logic.  They  took  what  seemed  to  them 
self-evident  axioms,  and  reasoned  down  from  them  in  a 
straight  line,  and  hoped  in  this  way  to  comprehend 
intellectually  the  whole  world  of  nature.  Some  of  the 
modern  idealistic  school  have  done  the  same;  but,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  flashes  of  intuitive  genius,  their 
method  has  proved  as  barren  as  that  of  their  predecessors 
in  the  ancient  world. 

It  was  not  till  the  inductive  method  of  research  came 
into  use  that  a  sure  and  certain  fund  of  positive  results 
began  to  accumulate.  But  what  do  we  mean  by  the  induc- 
tive method?  The  ordinary  answer  would  be  something 
as  follows.  By  the  inductive  method,  we  mean  the  process 
of  rising  from  particular  facts  to  general  conclusions.  The 
facts  are  first  'colligated,'  and  then  a  general  law  is  inferred 
by  means  of  which  they  are  explained.  Proceeding  in  this 
way,  we  rise  to  laws  of  progressively  higher  generality,  until 
what  we  term  universal  laws  of  nature  are  evolved.  This 
explanation  may  give  a  sufficiently  accurate  notion  of 
induction  objectively  considered,  but  it  gives  very  little  idea  of 
the  mental  processes  involved  in  the  observation  of  facts 
and  the  evolution  from  them  of  general  laws. 


I70 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


Regarded   subjectively,  the  first  step  in  the  creation  of 
scientific  truth  is  the  natural  impressions  made  by  external 
things  on  the  human  mind.     These  expressions  give  rise  to 
a  vast  number  of  ideas  which  are  ever  floating  in  and  out 
of  consciousness.     Such  ideas  are  not  fixed,  they  are  not 
verified,  they  are  not  in  any  way  systematized ;  they  arise 
promiscuously  from  the  natural  reaction  of  the  mind  and  its 
faculties  when  stimulated  by  the  world  without.      But  as 
thought  goes  on,  some  particular  conceptions  are  singled 
out  which  seem  to  be    important  as   explanatory   of  the 
phenomena  in  question ;  and  these  conceptions  are  formed 
into  a  hypothesis.     Here,  then,  we  have  the  most  primitive 
forai  of  scientific  research—that  is,  the  mind  stimulated  by 
a  desire  to  know,  forming  hypotheses  around  which  the  facts 
can  be  marshalled  in  some  intelligible  order.      The  next 
step  IS  the  testing  of  such  hypotheses.     As  observation  goes 
on.  It  IS  tolerably  certain  that  facts  will  turn  up  which  refuse 
to  combine  with  the  hypothesis  already  formed.    This  leads 
to  further  research,  and  superinduces  experiment  as  well  as 
observation  ;  the  consequence  of  which  is  that  the  hypothesis 
has  to  be  altered  and  transformed,  until  gradually  we  arrive 
at  a  definite  series  of  conceptions  which  all  the  facts  of  the 
case  seem  fully  to  bear  out.     This  whole  process,  I  may 
remark,  is  anything  but  a  strictly  logical  one  ;  it  may  rather 
be  described  as  the  common  sense  of  mankind  moving  onwards 
to  certain  definite  convictions,  substantiated  by  the  convergency 
of  evidence  from  every  quarter  upon  them. 

Lord  Bacon,  in  the  enthusiasm  with  which  he  first 
propounded  the  inductive  method  of  research,  imagined 
that  his  new  organum  was  an  instrument  of  discovery  which 
would  altogether  supersede  individual  sagacity.  And  not 
a  few  of  Lord  Bacon's  followers  have  cherished  the  same 
delusion.  The  best  authorities,  however,  of  the  present 
day  have  fully  recognised  the  truth,  that  although  definite 
inductive  processes  are  of  great  value,  the  ultimate  judge  of 
truth  IS  after  all  the  common  sense  of  mankind.  Thus 
Dr.  Carpenter,  in  treating  of  the  Logic  of  Science  before 
the  British  Association  in  Brighton,  of  which  he  was  the 
president,  wrote  in  his  introductory  address  as  follows  :— 
'Our  scientific  interpretations  are  clearly  matters  oi fudg- 


Theory  of  Human  Knowledge,  1 7 1 

ment,  and  this  is  eminently  a  personal  act^  the  value  of  its 
results  depending  in  each  case  upon  the  qualifications  of 
the  individual  for  arriving  at  a  correct  decision.    The  surest 
of  such  judgments   are  those   dictated  by   what  we   call 
common  sense,  as  to  matters  on  which  there  seems  no  room 
for  difference  of  opinion,  because  every  sane  person  comes 
to  the  same  conclusion,  although  he  may  be  able  to  give  no 
other  reason  for  it  than  that  it  appears  to  him  "  self-evident." 
Thus  whilst  philosophers  have  raised  a  thick  cloud  of  dust 
in  the  discussion  of  the  basis  of  our  belief  in  the  existence 
of  a  world  exterior  to  ourselves,  of  the  non  ego  as  distinct 
from  the  ego,  and  while  every  logician  claims  to  have  found 
some   flaw  in    the   proof  advanced    by   every   other,   the 
common  sense  of  mankind  has  arrived  at  a  decision  which 
is  practically  worth  all  the  arguments  of  all  the  philosophers 
who  have  fought  again  and  again  over  this  battle-ground. 
And  I  think  it  can  be  shown  that  the  trustworthiness  of  this 
common-sense  decision  arises  from  its  dependence  not  on 
any  one  set  of  experiences,  but  upon  our  unconscious  co-ordi- 
nation of  the  7vhole  aggregate  of  our  experiences — not  on  the 
conclusiveness  of  any  one  train  of  reasoning,  but  on  the  con- 
vergence of  all  our  lines  of  thought  towards  this  one  centre. 
Now  this  common  sense,  disciplined  and  enlarged  by  appro- 
priate culture,  becomes  one  of  our  most  valuable  instruments 
of  scientific  inquiry,  affording  in  many  instances  the  best 
and  sometimes  the  only  basis  for  a   rational  conclusion. 
Let  us  take  as  a  typical  case,  in  which  no  special  know- 
ledge  is  required,  what  we   are   accustomed  to   call   the 
"flint  implements"  of  the  Abbeville  and  Amiens  gravel  beds. 
No  logical  proof  can  be  adduced  that  the  peculiar  shapes 
of  these  flints  were  given  to  them  by  human  hands ;  but 
does  any  unprejudiced  person  now  doubt  it?    The  evidence 
of  "  design,"  to  which,  after  an  examination  of  one  or  two 
such  specimens,  we  should  only  be  justified  in  attaching  a 
probable  value,  derives  an  irresistible  cogency  from  accumula- 
tion.    On  the  other  hand,  the  improbability  that  these  flints 
acquired  their  peculiar  shape  by  accident,  becomes  to  our 
minds  greater  and   greater    as   more   and   more   of  such 
specimens  are  found,  until  at  last  this  hypothesis,  although 
it  cannot  be  directly  disproved,  is  felt  to  be  almost  incon- 


172 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


ceivable,  except  by  minds  previously  "  possessed "  by  the 
"  dominant  idea  "  of  the  modern  origin  of  man.  And  thus 
what  was  in  the  first  instance  a  matter  of  discussion,  has 
now  become  one  of  those  "self-evident"  propositions  which 
claim  the  unhesitating  assent  of  all  whose  opinion  on  the 
subject  is  entitled  to  the  least  weight.  We  proceed  upwards, 
however,  from  such  questions  as  the  common  sense  of  man- 
kind generally  is  competent  to  decide,  to  those  in  which 
special  knowledge  is  required  to  give  value  to  the  judgment, 
and  thus  the  interpretation  of  nature  by  the  use  of  that 
faculty  comes  to  be  more  and  more  individual,  things 
being  "perfectly  self-evident"  to  men  of  special  culture 
which  ordinary  men,  or  men  whose  training  has  lain  in  a 
different  direction,  do  not  apprehend  as  such.' 

Thus  far  the  remarks  of  Dr.  Carpenter  on  the  function  of 
common  sense  in  the  investigation  of  scientific  truth.  The 
last  sentence  touches  upon  a  point  of  great  importance — 
n?imely,  that  there  is  a  gradation  in  the  sciences,  according 
to  which  the  function  of  common  sense,  in  their  verification, 
is  larger  or  smaller,  and  the  function  of  pure  logic  in  the 
inverse  proportion.  Thus  in  geology  the  evidences  have 
to  be  co-ordinated  from  a  vast  number  of  sources  ;  and  here 
the  exercise  of  a  clear-headed  common  sense,  aided  and 
enlightened  by  the  knowledge  of  cognate  science,  is  of  the 
highest  value.  In  astronomy,  on  the  other  hand,  the  pro- 
cesses of  proof  are,  for  the  most  part,  so  entirely  mathe- 
matical, that  the  function  of  common  sense  is  proportionally 
small.  But  even  here  it  cannot  be  dispensed  with,  inasmuch 
as  there  will  always  remain  certain  fundamental  doctrines 
which  are  incapable  of  mathematical  proof,  and  must  be 
judged  of  through  conflicting  evidences.  Even  in  this  most 
exact  of  sciences,  observes  again  Dr.  Carpenter  in  the  same 
address,  we  cannot  proceed  a  step  without  translating  the 
actual  phenomena  of  Nature  into  intellectual  representations 
of  those  phenomena ;  and  it  is  because  the  Newtonian  con- 
ception is  not  only  the  most  simple,  but  is  also,  up  to  the 
extent  of  our  present  knowledge,  universal  in  its  conformity 
to  the  facts  of  observation,  that  we  accept  it  as  the  only 
scheme  of  the  universe  yet  promulgated  which  satisfies  our 
intellectual  requirements. 


Theory  of  Human  Knowledge, 


173 


Even  pure  mathematics,  in  their  fundamental  axiomatic 
truths,  are  not  raised  above  the  region  in  which  common 
sense  has  to  be  exercised  in  their  verification.  Just  as  in 
the  case  of  physical  science  the  primary  consciousness  is 
that  of  a  numberless  flow  of  ideas,  most  of  which  pass  away 
entirely,  while  only  those  conceptions  which  strike  us  as 
being  most  explanatory  of  the  phenomena  are  retained. and 
verified,  so  it  is  also  in  mathematics  :  the  mind  of  man 
forms  a  thousand  mathematical  notions,  some  true   and 

some  false. 

Had  we  never  found  out  the  value  of  some  of  these 
notions,  they  would  not  strike  us  as  being  in  any  way 
diff'erent  from  the  ordinary  flow  of  thoughts  which  pass  in 
and  out  of  the  consciousness.  What  is  there  to  attract  us 
as  objects  of  interest  or  value  in  the  passing  conception  of 
a  line  or  an  angle  or  a  plane  figure  of  any  kind?  It  is  only 
when  we  select  the  more  striking  and  recurrent  of  these 
notions  from  the  crowd,— only  when  we  begin  to  probe 
them,  elaborate  them,  find  out  their  application  to  practical 
uses  in  the  outer  world,— that  such  mathematical  ideas  take 
any  fixed  or  scientific  form.  But  all  this  is  found  out  by  a 
multitude  of  tentative  efl"orts,  of  which,  perhaps,  the  mind 
has  hardly  been  conscious,  the  result  of  which,  however, 
has  been  to  fix  a  certain  number  of  fundamental  truths, 
which  we  accept  then  as  axiomatic.  The  very  formation 
of  these  axioms  has,  therefore,  been  a  work  of  common  sense 
acting  upon  our  inner  experiences ;  and  we  feel  perfectly 
convinced  of  their  truth  from  their  complete  consistency 
with  the  whole  of  the  perceptive  phenomena  we  possess  of 

the  outer  world.  .  ,  .      ,    , 

We  have  now,  I  think,  sufficiently  explained  the  process 
by  which  the  mind  of  man  arrives  at  any  assignable  truth 
within  the  sphere  of  its  ordinary  scientific  inquiries.  In 
every  case  it  begins  by  arresting  out  of  the  many  concep- 
tions which  turn  up  in  the  natural  flow  of  our  consciousness, 
those  which  seem  to  possess  special  value  as  explanatory  ot 
certain  phenomena  around  us.  Out  of  these,  hypotheses 
are  formed  that  for  the  time  take  the  place  of  those  as  yet 
unknown  laws  of  nature  which  the  reason  of  man  so  ardently 
desires  to  comprehend.     By  subsequent  observation  and 


174 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


experiment,  these  hypotheses  are  either  verified  or  trans- 
formed ;  and  so  gradually  we  arrive  at  the  convictions  which 
govern  the  whole  scientific  faith  of  mankind. 

Now,  as  this  seems  to  be  the  ordinary  procedure  of  the 
human  reason  in  its  developed  and  reflective  form,  it  is 
natural  for  us  to  inquire  whether,  on  a  more  primitive  and 
spontaneous  sphere  of  operation  (that,  namely,  of  our  pre- 
conscious  activity)  it  does  not  follow  'exactly  the  same 
laws,  and  whether  in  arriving  at  realism  the  human  mind 
has  not  gone  through  tacitly  a  succession  of  tentative  efforts 
precisely  similar  to  those  involved  in  every  other  intellectual 
process  whatever.  On  this  supposition,  the  process  by 
which  we  arrive  at  the  conviction  of  the  existence  of  an 
external  world  would  be  as  follows :  Firstly,  The  mind,  as  yet 
unconscious  of  all  beyond  itselfi  experiences  a  number  of 
vague,  floating  sensations  and  impressions ;  secondly.  These 
impressions  first  conveyed  by  the  senses  are  retained,  repro- 
duced, and  combined  with  new  perceptions;  thirdly.  As 
such  experiences  progress  and  multiply,  there  are  some 
which  stand  out  from  all  the  rest  with  a  peculiar  vividness 
and  intensity.  In  place  of  coming  and  going,  —  of  re- 
appearing and  melting  away  in  the  very  process  of 
experiencing  them, — they  are  persistent  and  unchanging; 
they  refuse  to  be  seen  and  dismissed  at  pleasure,  but 
return  ever  and  anon  in  the  same  form  and  with  the  same 
obstinate  persistency.  But,  fourthly,  why  should  they  do 
so  ?  and  how  can  the  mind  account  for  this  particular  phase 
of  its  daily  life  ?  Not  being  able  to  control  or  get  rid  of 
such  perceptions,  it  begins  to  attribute  them  to  an  outward 
cause  ;  and  this  forms,  as  it  were,  a  primary  and  spon- 
taneous hypothesis,  by  means  of  which  all  these  vivid  and 
unmanageable  phenomena  are  accounted  for. 

Let  us,  for  the  sake  of  explanation,  imagine  a  mind 
created  mature,  set  down  in  the  midst  of  the  wonders  of 
nature,  and  left  to  form  its  own  conclusions.  There,  in  the 
distance,  we  will  suppose,  stands  a  lofty  mountain,  which 
attracts  the  organ  of  sight.  To  the  mind  we  are  now 
imagining,  it  would  be  simply  a  sensation  ;  but  amidst  all 
the  flow  of  ideas  and  impressions  this  particular  sensation 
will  recur.     The  mind  in  question  has,  perhaps,  a  hundred 


Theory  of  Human  Knowledge.  1 75 

other   similar   sensations   every  day  which  do  not  recur. 
Why,  then,  it  might  naturally  ask,  should  this  particular 
sensation  recur  whenever  my  eye  is  directed  to  one  particular 
region  ?  how  is  it  that  it  always  comes  with  such  remarkable 
regularity  and  force  ?  how  is  it  that  it  changes  with  the  varia- 
tions of  light  and  shade,  and  disappears  every  night  ?  how 
is  it  that  I  do  not  have  the  sensation  when  sight  is  closed  ? 
how  is  it  that  it  gets  smaller  and  smaller  as  I  recede  from, 
larger  and  larger  as  I  approach,  it  ?     All  these  questions 
can  be  answered  intelligently  on  the  hypothesis  that  the 
mountain  is  an  external  reality  independent  of  itself.    True, 
the  various  phenomena  enumerated  are  all  subjective,  and 
we  can  find  no  logical  passage  from  the  mental  impressions 
to  the  reality;  but  we  find  within  our  reason  an  intense 
desire  to  knouiy — i.e.,  to  account  for  what  we  experience, — to 
be  able  to  explain  it ;  and  on  the  ideal  hypothesis  there  is 
no  explanation   possible.      Amongst   the   ideas,  however, 
which  pass  through  our  minds,  we  come  upon  that  of  an 
external  world  apart  from  ourselves,  which  acts  upon  our 
senses  and  produces  the  fixed  perceptions  which  so  regularly 
recur.     This  idea  of  an  external  world  is,  at  any  rate,  a 
possibility.     We  assume  it,  therefore,  as  our  hypothesis  ;  and 
immediately  we  do  this,  the  phenomena  begin  to  gather 
round  it  in  some  intelligible  order.     We  can  now  see  why 
the  perception  of  the  mountain  came  in  the  first  instance, 
why  it  recurs,  why  it  alters,  why  it  disappears  and  comes 
again,  why  it  grows  larger  and  smaller,  etc.     We  know  as  a 
fact  that'our  perceptions  of  the  size,  distance,  direction,  etc. 
of  objects  come   to   us  just  in  this  way.     They  are  all 
acquired  by  experiment ;  the  truth  grows  up  gradually  in 
the  mind,  and  is  confirmed  and  fixed  by  numberless  tenta- 
tive eff"orts  in  the  same  line  of  analysis.    And  if  the  elements 
of  size,  distance,  direction,  are  so  learned,  is  it  not  pretty 
certain  that  the  notion  of  an  external  world  comes  to  us  in 
the  same  way — first,  that  is,  as  a  spontaneously  -  working 
hypothesis,  and  at  last  as  a  fixed  and  settled  conviction  ? 

Now,  of  course,  the  supposition  we  have  made  is  an 
impossibility.  We  have  only  used  it,  however,  as  an  illustra- 
tion to  show  how  under  those  conceivable  circumstances 
the  notion   of  an   external  world  would  dawn    upon    us 


176 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


gradually  by  the  same  process  as  all  the  other  elements  of 
human  knowledge.  But  let  us  try  to  translate  this  conceiv- 
able though  impossible  case  into  a  real  one.  Every  infant 
that  is  born  into  the  world  possesses  a  mind,  which  has  to 
gain  in  some  way  or  other  a  perceptive  knowledge  of  things 
around  it.  We  notice  that  during  the  first  months  of  its 
existence  that  mind  is  struggling  out.  of  a  state  of  bare 
receptivity  into  what  we  may  call  a  state  of  world  conscious- 
ness. It  is  perfectly  true  that  we  cannot  enter  into  this 
mind  and  watch  the  process  by  which  that  struggle  takes 
place  ;  but  if  the  laws  of  intelligence  are  the  same  for  every 
period  of  the  soul's  growth,  then  by  analogy  we  can  frame 
to  ourselves  a  complete  representation  of  what  that  process 
must  be.  A  multitude  of  impressions  are  pouring  in  upon 
the  infant  intelligence  at  almost  every  waking  moment. 
Those  impressions  which  are  most  vivid  are  spontaneously 
arrested  and  observed ;  they  recur  over  and  over  again, 
they  are  recognised  anew  from  day  to  day,  and  the  spon- 
taneous logic  of  the  nascent  reason  forms  for  itself  the  dim 
hypothesis  of  an  external  object,  which  subsequently  by 
innumerable  trials  is  confirmed,  verified,  and  at  length 
completely  established  as  a  fact.  Thus  we  have  no  need 
to  have  recourse  to  any  supposition  of  innate  ideas;  we 
have  no  need  to  deduce  the  world-consciousness  from  the 
tactile  impressions  or  the  muscular  sense.  These  no  doubt 
enter  into  the  process ;  but  every  sense  we  possess,  being 
the  inlet  of  vivid  impressions  which  ever  and  anon  recur, 
goes  to  supply  data  for  the  preconscious  intelligence  to 
act  upon,  and  helps  both  to  build  up  the  hypothesis  of  an 
external  world,  and  then  to  establish  it  as  a  fixed  and 
unalterable  conviction. 

We  can  now  see  what  the  method  of  philosophy  has 
been  in  attempting  to  establish  the  truth  of  realism,  and 
what  is  the  method  of  nature  and  common  sense.  The 
former  starts  from  our  direct  internal  experiences,  and 
reasons  down  from  them  in  a  series  of  logical  syllogisms, 
which  never  succeed  in  breaking  through  the  barrier  which 
separates  the  subjective  from  the  objective  world.  The 
latter  starts  also  from  our  inward  experiences  ;  but  in  place  of 
proceeding  in  a  straight  line  of  logical  inference,  it  selects 


Tlieory  of  Hiiman  Knowledge,  1 7  7 

some  one  or  other  of  its  ideas  as  a  possibility,  forms  out  of 
it  a  working  hypothesis,  tests  the  phenomena  of  the  case  by 
this  hypothesis,  finds  it  either  confirmed  or  exploded.  In 
the  latter  case,  the  hypothesis  has  to  be  transformed,  perhaps 
many  times  over,  until  it  comes  into  a  shape  in  which  all 
the  facts  arrange  themselves  with  due  order  and  consistency. 
When  this  is  done  it  only  needs  continued  observation  and 
experience  to  frame  it  into  di  final  conviction. 

All  the  different  branches  of  human  thought  and  convic- 
tion may  be  tested  by  this  method.  Let  us  see  how  it 
applies  to  the  convictions  which  lie  at  the  basis  of  natural 
theology.  We  have  already  seen  that  no  direct  logical  proof 
exists  of  the  existence  of  God  which,  if  carried  out,  does 
not  involve  us  in  contradictions.  This  is  shown  to  evidence 
equally  by  idealists  and  positivists,  by  Kant  and  Herbert 
Spencer.  We  can,  in  fact,  no  more  prove  the  existence  of  a 
God  by  a  logical  argument,  than  we  can  prove  the  existence 
of  an  external  world ;  but  none  the  less  may  we  obtain  as 
strong  a  practical  conviction  of  the  one  as  the  other. 

How  is  this  to  be  done?    We  start  with  the  indubitable 
fact  that  the  notion  of  a  supreme  power  that  first  created 
and  now  governs   the  universe  exists   within  the  human 
mind  as  a  possibility.     The  nature  of  this  power,  however, 
as  an  external  fact,  we  now  see,  cannot  be  the  direct  object 
of  human  knowledge.     We  find,  accordingly,  that  various 
hypotheses    have    been    framed    at    different   periods    of 
human   history  to  explain  the  world's   phenomena.     One 
hypothesis  is  that  of  chance.     But  this  could  never  retain 
any  hold  on  the  general  opinion  of  mankind.     Analyzed  to 
its  primary  elements,  the  doctrine  of  chance  is  simply  the 
negation  of  any  cause  whatever,  —  the  position  that   the 
universe  exists  only  by  itself,  without  any  assignable  reason 
for  all  the  infinite  marks  of  design  which  it  exhibits.     This 
is  an  hypothesis  which  could  never  be  maintained  as  any 
satisfaction   to   the   human   reason.      Another  hypothesis 
assigns  a  hierarchy  of  deities  for  the  government  of  the 
world.     This  hypothesis  appears  to  be  only  incident  to  an 
extremely  immature   and    undeveloped   condition   of  the 
human  intellect.     It  coheres  so  little  with  the  phenomena 
of  the  universe,  or  the  moral  consciousness  of  humanity, 

M 


178 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


and  at  the  same  time  gains  so  little  support  from  the  in- 
vestigations of  the  human  reason,  that  it  never  holds 
its  ground  long  after  any  moderate  degree  of  culture  has 
been  attained. 

A  third  hypothesis  is  the  pantheistic, — that  which  gives 
a  soul  to  the  world,  and  makes  nature  but  the  external 
manifestation  of  it.  But  in  the  face  of  all  the  suffd^ing, 
the  misery,  the  vice,  and  the  widespread  evil  of  every  kind 
which  has  ever  abounded  in  the  world,  it  seems  unhkely 
enough  that  the  common  sense  of  mankind  will  ever  rest 
in  an  hypothesis  which  not  only  makes  God  the  author  of 
all,  but  which  makes  *  all  the  ills  which  flesh  is  heir  to,'  as 
well  as  all  the  sin,  part  and  parcel  of  the  divine  life. 
Pantheism  may  approve  itself  as  a  mere  theory  to  the 
speculative  reason  of  many,  just  as  Berkeley's  theory  of  the 
outer  world  can  be  vindicated  triumphantly  by  the  processes 
of  pure  logic ;  but  the  one  has  no  greater  claim  to  satisfy 
the  common  sense  of  mankind  than  the  other.  We  can 
no  more  easily  imagine  ourselves  to  be  parts  of  the  divine 
life  and  experience,  than  we  can  imagine  the  world  to  be 
only  a  vision  of  our  own  spirits.  Fourthly,  there  is  only 
one  other  possible  hypothesis  we  can  form  as  to  the  origin 
and  government  of  the  world ;  for  either,  firstly,  it  had  no 
creator ;  or,  secondly,  it  had  more  than  one  creator ;  or, 
thirdly,  it  and  the  creator  are  the  same ;  or,  lastly,  it  was 
created  by  one  supreme  being.  This  last  monotheistic 
hypothesis  is  that  which  has  approved  itself,  in  the  main, 
to  the  common  sense  of  all  the  more  cultivated  and 
developed  nations  of  mankind.  For  when  the  mind  of 
man,  cultivated  by  science,  contemplates  the  infinite  marks 
of  design,  from  the  revolution  of  the  planets  down  to 
minutest  arrangements  of  organic  life,  it  cannot  rest  in  the 
thought  that  there  is  no  supreme  designing  power  that  sees 
and  governs  the  whole.  When  the  conscience,  awakened 
by  culture,  feels  the  force  of  moral  law  which  impels  to 
right  and  condemns  the  wrong,  uniting  happiness  with 
virtue  and  misery  with  vice,  we  cannot  banish  the  thought 
that  there  is  a  supreme  lawgiver  and  judge,  from  whom 
all  those  moral  sanctions  proceed  which  reward  the  good 
and    punish   the   evil.      When   we    regard    the   religious 


Theory  of  Human  Knowledge,  1 79 

phenomena  of  human  life,  the  impulse  to  worship, 'the 
lonRing  for  immortality,  the  aspirations  of  the  heart  towards 
infinite  purity,  perfection,  and  love,  we  cannot  rest  in  the 
belief  that  all  this  is  empty  sentiment  devoid  of  foundation 
in  truth,  and  pointing  to  no  final  satisfaction  here  or  here- 
after     That  we  have  no  innate  knowledge  of  ood   is 
perfectly  true ;  that  we  cannot  arrive  at  a  complete  logical 
demonstration  of  His  existence  is  true  also ;  but  this  no 
more  disproves  His  existence  than  the  idealism  of  Berkeley 
or   Hegel  can  disprove  the  material  universe.      On  the 
other  hand,  we  arrive  at  a  scientific  belief  m  the  existence 
of  God  just  as  we  do  at  any  other  possible  human  truth. 
We  assume  it  as  an   hypothesis  absolutely  necessary  to 
account  for  the  phenomena  of  the  universe ;  and  then 
evidences  from  every  quarter  begin  to  converge  upon  it, 
until  in  process  of  time  the  common  sense  of  mankind, 
cultivated  and  enlightened  by  ever  accumulating  knowledge, 
pronounces  upon  the  validity  of  the  hypothesis  with  a  voice 
scarcely  less  decided  and  universal  than  it  does  in  the  case 
of  our  highest  scientific  convictions.     Moreover,  let  us  ever 
remember  that  the  evidence  is  not  yet  complete.     Just  as 
in  the  case  of  great  scientific  theories,  it  requires  some 
generations  of  thinking  men  to  work  upon  them  before  all 
the  evidence  converges,  and  they  take  their  place  amongst 
the  fixed,  unalterable  convictions  of  humanity,  so  also  in 
the  case  of  this  greatest  of  all  hypotheses  (that  of  a  supreme 
being),  historic  thought  has  been  adding  proof  after  proof 
and  illustration  after  illustration,  and  the  process  is  still 
going  on ;  so  that  it  is  quite  open  for  us  to  believe  that  the 
common  sense  of  mankind  will,  in  the  long  run,  be  so 
dominated  by  this  convergency  of  evidence,  that  the  exist- 
ence of  the  Deity  will  present  as  much  the  aspect  of  a  truth 
evolved  from  exact  science,  as  the   Newtonian  theory  of 
the  solar  system,  or  any  other  great  scientific   doctrine 
which  has  raised  itself  above  the  level  of  all  human  doubt. 

I  have  now  completed  the  purpose  I  had  in  view  in 
composing  this  little  monogram  on  the  theory  of  human 
knowledge.  I  have  attempted  to  show,  first  of  all,  that 
there  is  only  one  kind  of  knowledge  which  is  absolutely,  im- 
mediately, and  perfectly  sure,  and  that  is  the  knowledge  or 


i8o 


Philosophical  Fragtncftls, 


consciousness  we  have  of  the  phenomena  passing  through 
our  own  mmds ;  and  ^that  this  is  the  starting  point  for 
knowledge  of  every  other  description.  I  have  attempted 
to  show,  secondly,  that  the  effort  to  build  up  upon  these 
mward  phenomena  a  body  of  scientific  truth  by  a  strict 
course  of  logical  inference  is  futile,  whether  it  pretend  to 
lead  us  to  realism  on  the  one  side,  or  idealism  on  the 
other  I  have  attempted  to  show,  thirdly,  that,  when  once 
out  of  the  sphere  of  immediate  consciousness,  there  is  one 
and  only  one  valid  philosophical  method  remaining,  equally 
applicable  to  all  departments  of  human  thought  —  that 
namely,  which  is  followed  in  the  investigations  of  inductive 
science,  and  is  based  upon  the  judgment  of  common  sense, 
guided  by  a  concentration  of  evidence  from  every  quarter 

In  this  way  are  fonned  not  only  our  ordinary  convictions 
m  the  afifairs  of  every-day  life,  not  only  our  historic  beliefs 
not  only  our  scientific  conclusions,  but  also  our  beHefs  in 
an  external  world,  and  in  the  existence  of  a  God  and 
lather  Almighty,  maker  of  heaven  and  earth. 


PART     III. 


PSYCHOLOGY  APPLIED  TO  EDUCATION. 


181 


LECTURE    I. 


THE  purport  of  the  following  lectures  is  to  offer  some 
thoughts  on  the  application  of  mental  philosophy 
to  education.     The  subject  itself,  I  may  remark,  is  some- 
what new ;  for  although  it  has  been  often  recognised  and 
affirmed  that  the  basis  of  education,  theoretically  considered, 
should  be  laid  in  a  due   consideration   of  psychological 
principles,  vet  very  little  has  as  yet  been  done  to  connect 
the   one   with   the   other.      The   rules   and   processes   of 
education  have  hitherto  been  for  the  most  part  empirical 
I  do  not  say  that  this  is  a  fault,  or  a  procedure  to  be  at  all 
regretted.      All   human   arts   and   activities,   of  whatever 
nature,  are  empirical  before  they  are  brought  within  the 
range  and  influence  of  a  definite  science.     In^  the  earlier 
stages  of  every  possible  sphere  of  human  action,  experi- 
ence is  the  best  and  indeed  the  only  guide.     No  wonder, 
therefore,   that   it   should    have   hitherto   been   the   chief 
guide  in  education,  and  that  it  should  have  led  us  here, 
as  well   as  in  various  other  departments,  to   many   good 

results. 

The  question,  however,  which  we  have  now  to  moot  is, 
Whether  the  time  has  not  arrived  for  making  practical  use, 
at  least  to  some  extent,  of  the  principles  of  psychology. 
Not  that  we  want  to  dispense  with  the  aid  of  experience  in 
education,  but  rather  to  inquire  whether  experience  must 
positively  do  everything;  and  whether  there  may  not  be 
some  amount  of  fresh  light  thrown  over  the  whole  question 
through    the    influence,    well    applied,    of   psychological 

science. 

Now,  the  decision  we  come  to  on  this  point  will,  of 

183 


1 84 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


course,  depend  mainly  on  the  view  we  take  of  the  nature 
and  range  of  psychology.    If  psychology  is  merely  a  natural 
history  of  mental  phenomena,   if  it  confines  itself  simply 
to   giving  a  catalogue   raisontie  of  the  observed  facts  of 
consciousness,  we  cannot  expect  that  it  will  have  any  very 
wide  and  important  application  to  subjects  lying  without 
its  own  immediate  range.     No  branches  of  mere  natural 
history  can  possibly  have  any  such  widespread  applications. 
The  classification  and  naming,  for  example,  of  plants  and 
animals  may,  indeed,  be  most  interesting  to  the  naturalist ; 
but  no  one  expects  to  find  any  great  practical  application  of 
natural  history,  when  thus  studied,  to  the  other  arts  and 
sciences.     The   mere  cataloguing  of  the  earths,  minerals, 
and   metals    may   offer  much   to   delight   the   mind   and 
stimulate  curiosity ;  but  here  the  value  of  the  study,  thus 
conducted,  virtually  stops.     When,  however,  we  take  up 
any  branch  of  investigation  and  pursue  it  as  an  inductive 
science,  the  results  are  wholly  different.     Botany,  zoology, 
mineralogy,   and   all   the   other   kindred   branches,   when 
pursued  scientifically,  take  us  below  mere  facts  into  general 
laws  and  principles,  which  find  an  application  to  all  the 
ramifications   of  human   knowledge  and   human   life.      I 
cannot,  in  the  outset,  draw  your  attention  too  emphatically 
to  this  great  distinction,  the  distinction  between   a   mere 
natural  history  and  an  inductive  science.    Imagine  to  your- 
selves the  science  of  chemistry  pursued  simply  as  a  natural 
history  of  organic  and   inorganic  materials.     One  cannot 
say,  indeed,  that  it  would  be  of  no  value,  inasmuch  as  the 
observation  and  colligation  oi  facts  is  always  a  preliminary 
step  necessary  to  the  development  of  every  science ;  and 
even  over  and  above  this,  it  might  prove  practically  useful 
for  us  to  know  that  such  and  such  substances  with  such 
and  such  properties  exist,  and  are  always  found  under  given 
circumstances.     But  how  confined,  how  unimportant,  how 
insignificant  is  the  application  which  could  be  made  of  this 
kifid  of  isolated  knowledge  !     On  the  other  hand,  consider 
how  great   is   the   range,  and   how   infinitely   varied   the 
applications,  of  chemical  science  properly  so  called.     Once 
sink  down  to  first  principles,  once  get  hold,  for  example,  of 
such  ideas  as  are  involved  in  chemical  analysis,  or  the  laws 


Lecture  /. 


185 


of  chemical  combinations,  or  the  doctrme  of  chemical 
equivalents,  and  a  science  results  which  carries  its  light 
irTto  all  the  different  branches  of  human  life,  applies  to 
every  known  art,  helps  to  develope  every  region  of  know- 
ledge lying  above  it,  and  thus  gives  direction,  more  or  less, 
to  the  whole  range  at  once  of  scientific  thought  and  of  human 

industry.  . 

Now,  looking  at  psychology  as  a  science,  we  cannot  say 
that  it  has  yet  come  into  \\\2X  perfect  inductive  form  to  which 
so  many  of  the  other  sciences  have  arrived.  We  cannot 
say  that  we  have  yet  got  down  to  any  great  fundamental 
laws  and  principles,  out  of  which  large  and  varied  con- 
clusions can  be  deduced  with  the  same  certitude  with 
which  they  are  brought  forward  in  the  more  perfectly 
scientific  branches  of  human  thought. 

Take  the  two  main  schools  of  psychology  in  this  country, 
—I  mean  the  ordinary  mental  philosophy  of  Scotland  as 
developed  by  Reid,  Stewart,  Brown,  and  Hamilton,  on  the 
one  side,  and   the   expansion  of  the  Lockian  school,  as 
seen  in  Mill's  Analysis  and  similar  works,  on  the  other. 
I  should  be  indeed  the  last  to  deny  to  the  Scottish  school 
of  mental  philosophy  its  due  meed  of  praise,  or  withhold  a 
hearty  recognition  of  its  great  services  in  the  history  of  our 
literature  ;  but  when  all  tJiat  has  been  said,  it  still  remains 
true  that  the  Scottish  school  gives  us  rather  a  preparation 
for  a  philosophy  than  a  philosophy  itself.     If  we  except 
some  isolated  discussions  on  the  origin  of  our  ideas,  on  the 
primitive  character  of  the  faculties,  and  certain  criticisms 
on  the   varied   phases  of  idealism,  the  chief  aim  of  the 
Scottish  school  has  been  to  work  out  a  complete  classified 
list  of  mental  phenomena,  and  reduce  them  under  certain 
definite  heads,  termed  powers  or  faculties.     In  all  this  we 
find,  it  is  true,  a  large  amount  of  good  practical  mental 
analysis,  but  the  problem  of  descending  from  our  actual 
mental  states  to  ihtii  primitive  form  is  by  no  means  effectu- 
ally solved.      The  way  in  which  the  whole   fulness  and 
vigour  of  our  mental  life  grows  up  from  the  primary  laws  of 
intelligence  is  not  fully  or  scientifically  traced ;  and,  con- 
sequently, we  fail  to  derive  from  this  school  any  such  great 
and  fruitful  principles  as  we  should  require  to  possess  before 


1 86 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


any  direct  application  of  psychology  could  be  made  to  the 
rules  and  processes  of  education. 

With  regard  to  what  we  may  term  the  sensational  school 
of  English  psychology,  a  considerably  greater  amount  of 
analysis  has  undoubtedly  been  here  attempted.  Just  as 
was  the  case  in  the  French  materialistic  school  of  the  last 
century, — to  which  it  is  closely  allied, — so  also  in  England, 
a  very  considerable  expenditure  of  thought  and  ingenuity 
has  been  applied  to  the  task  of  tracing  all  our  mental 
powers  down  to  the  primary  intimations  of  the  senses. 
Many  important  facts,  many  useful  principles,  many  recon- 
dite processes  of  mind  have  been  brought  to  light  in  the 
course  of  this  analysis;  but  after  all  the  result  remains 
wholly  partial  and  one-sided.  It  is  tacitly  taken  for  granted 
that  SENSATION  is  the  primitive  form  of  all  mental  life,  that 
the  impressions  made  on  us  through  the  senses  are  the 
starting-points  of  all  mental  activity,  and  that  from  these 
impressions  the  whole  structure  of  our  subsequent  know- 
ledge has  to  be  built  up.  All  these  suppositions,  I  believe, 
are  quite  gratuitous.  They  have  been  for  the  most  part 
assumed  rather  than  demonstrated,  and  will  not  bear  any 
close  philosophical  analysis.  There  is  a  prior  fund  of 
mental  life  and  activity  underlying  all  our  sensations. 
Experience,  accordingly,  is  not  a  simple  primitive  fact,  but 
is  the  result  of  mental  laws  working  in  conjunction  with 
outward  nature.  So  long  as  these  preconscious  forms  of 
mental  life  are  lost  sight  of,  the  sensational  school  cannot 
but  be  regarded  as  fundamentally  imperfect  and  unsatis- 
factory. It  gives  an  unnatural  amount  of  importance  to 
sensation,  by  regarding  it  as  the  original  mental  pheno- 
menon out  of  which  our  knowledge  flows,  and  neglects 
the  more  primitive  and  more  universal  laws  which  underlie 
it, — laws  without  which  no  perception  can  be  realized, 
which  govern  the  whole  proceeding  of  the  human  intellect, 
even  to  the  dawn  of  consciousness  itself,  and  which  thus 
connect  the  phenomena  of  mind  with  the  more  universal 
processes  of  nature.  All  life  is  really  one;  and  not  till 
mental  life  comes  to  be  studied  as  a  department  of  the 
great  life  of  nature,  shall  we  succeed  in  realizing  its  most 
primitive  forms  —  not  till  then  shall  we  discover  mental 


Lecture  I, 


187 


principles  which  will  bear  a  universal  practical  applica- 

*'°mether,  therefore,  we  look  ^tt^e  Scottish  school  of 
psychology  on  the  one  side,  or  the   English  sensationa 
LTool  of  the  other,  in  either  case  we  find  compara Uvely 
little  which  has  borne  a  direct  application  to  human  life  at 
large,   and   to   the  processes  of  education   in   particular. 
Isola  ed  efforts  there  have  been  in  England  (and  still  rnore 
so  in  Germany),  which  point  to  the  development  of  a  deeper 
and  more  fruitful  school  of  psychology  in  the  future.     O 
such  a  nature  are  the  elucidations  thrown  upon  mental 
phenomena  by  the  fuller  knowledge  of  the  nervous  system 
the  closer  observation  of  insanity,  and  the  study  of  the 
thoughts  and  instincts  of  animals.     Of  such  a  nature  are 
the   efforts  made  to  comprehend  the  facts  of  mesmerism, 
electro-biology,  and  unconscious  cerebration.     Of  such   a 
nature  are  the  investigations  which  throw  light  upon  the 
development  of  mind  out  of  its  lower  histonc  forms,  and 
the  gradual  evolution  of  intellectual  power  on  the  principle 
of  hereditary  transmission.     All  these,  and  other  similar 
researches,  inc^icate  new  spheres  of  observation  which  are 
gradually  connecting  psychological  studies  with  the  ascer- 
tained  results  of  physiology,  anthropology,  and  history ;  and 
which  in  the  process  of  time  will,  probably,  lay  the  founda- 
tions for  a  totally  neiv  form  of  mental  science,— one  which, 
being    based    from    the    very    commencement   o"    ™oye 
universal  principles,  will  bear  a  more  direct  and  fruitful 
application  to  human  life  at  large. 

From  what  I  have  now  said,  you  will  easily  gather  this 
result,— that  as  far  as  my  own  opinion  goes,  the  time  has 
not  i^t  arrived  for  attempting  to  lay  a  complete  psychologual 
basis  ioT  education.  Mental  philosophy  (as  a  science)  is  as 
vet  too  much  in  its  infancy ;  it  confines  itself  too  much  to  a 
mere  natural  history  of  facts ;  it  has  but  too  recently  taken  up 
the  more  universal  laws  which  connect  mind  with  nature ;  it  is, 
in  fact,  in  every  way  too  incomplete  to  play  the  part  of  a  fuU- 
gro^  inductive  science,  out  of  which  laws  and  rues  of 
action  can  be  deduced  with  any  approach  to  positive  certainty 
Were  I,  therefore,  to  take  up  this  subject  with  m  artificial 
enthusiasm,  and  pretend  to  lay  the  foundation  for  a  great 


|i 


1 8 8  Philosophical  Fragments. 

educational  theory,  based  on  the  present  results  of  mental 
philosophy,  I  feel  I  should  only  lead  you  astray.  Those 
Insults,  scientifically  considered,  do  not  as  yet  reach  very  far. 
1  he  great  value  of  mental  philosophy  at  present,  so  far  as  I 
can  judge,  is  its  use  as  a  mental  discipline.  It  teaches  us 
to  turn  the  mind  inwards,  to  analyze  habitually  our  thoughts 
and  feelings,  to  separate  the  matter  of  our  knowledge  from 

.f^?}""^'  ^"^  '^'''^  ^'  ^^  ^"  ^""^an  truth  what  is  the 
product  of  the  age  and  the  circumstances  in  which  we  live, 
and  what  has  its  basis  in  the  unalterable  laws  of  human 
nature.     It  teaches  us,  further,  to  rise  above  the  tyranny  of 
words,  and  strip  them  of  their  artificial  power  to  govern  us— 
to  separate  dogma  into  its  primary  elements,  retaining  the 
kernel  while  we  cast  away  the  husk ;  in  a  word,  it  teaches 
us   to   think  clearly  and   soundly,  and   in   place  of  being 
governed  by  opinions,  to  exercise  common  sense  (however 
uncommon  it  may  be)  in  analyzing  and  laying  bare  the 
elements  of  popular  ideas  and  current  doctrines.     For  all 
these  purposes,  I  look  upon  mental  philosophy  as  inestim- 
ably  valuable,  and  could  only  wish  to  see  it  more  systemati- 
cally introduced  into  the  routine  of  our  higher  university 
studies.      But   if  any  one    imagines   that  we  can   regard 
psychology  proper  as  a  fully  developed  inductive  science, 
that   we  can  assume  its  conclusions  as   infallible  starting 
pomts,  and  deduce  from  it  a  whole  body  of  precept  for 
the  guidance  of  life  and   the   culture  of  the   intellectual 
and  moral  powers,  I  confess  I  cannot  follow  him  to  this 
extent,  and  cannot  myself  pretend  to  offer  you  a  complete 
educational  theory  based  on  these  conclusions. 

I  trust  that  you  will  not  be  disappointed  with  these  con- 
fessions which  I  am  obliged  to  make  almost  at  the  outset 
It  is  a  great  thing  in  studying  any  subject,  to  know  how  far 
we  may  go  with  safety,  what  sort  of  conclusions  we  are 
entitled  to  draw,  and  where  our  pretensions  ought  to  end 
Whatever  conclusions,  therefore,  I  may  come  to  after  this! 
I  hope  you  will,  from  the  confessions  now  made,  have  the 
greater  confidence  that  I  am  not  likely  to  strain  or  over- 
draw them,  that  I  am  quite  alive  to  the  limits  within 
which  I  can  safely  move,  and  that  whatever  application  I 
make  of  mental  philosophy  to  the  subject  of  education  it 


Lecture  I, 


189 


will  be  as  aiding  or  confirming  rather  than  superseding  the 
results  of  our  present  experience. 

Without  any  further  introduction,  then,  I  shall  now  pro- 
ceed to  enumerate  a  few  of  the  results  of  modern  psychology, 
which  appear  to  me  capable  of  some  application  to  the 
theory  and  practice  of  education.  These  results  may  not  be 
all  of  them  quite  familiar  to  you  ;  but  as  the  ordinary 
notions  derived  from  the  current  philosophy  of  the  Scotch 
or  English  schools  do  not  admit,  as  I  before  remarked,  of 
any  broad  application  to  subjects  lying  beyond  their  imme- 
diate range,  I  am  constrained  to  select  just  those  wider  and 
less  known  principles  which  more  modern  research  is  now 
bringing  to  light.  The  first  of  these  principles,  then,  to 
which  I  point  your  attention  is 

The  hereditary  transmission  of  mental  qualities. 

Within  the  last  hundred  years  various  theories  have  been 
propounded  to  account  for  the  great  variations  of  mental 
power,  both  in   nations  and  individuals.     The  prevailing 
notion  in  the  sensational  schools  of  the  last  century  was, 
that  the  mind  is  at  first  a  tabula  rasa;  that  all  human 
beings  start  (individually  considered)  from  the  same  point ; 
and  that  the  differences  of  mental  qualities  arise  from  the 
different  contact  they  have   with   nature,  or   the  different 
treatment   they   receive   from  other  minds  around  them. 
This  notion  is  now  scarcely  ever  seriously  maintained.     It 
conflicts  too  obviously  with  facts  to  hold  a  place  in  human 
opinion,  except  under  very  peculiar  circumstances,  and  has 
gradually  disappeared  from  the  pages  of  scientific  writers, 
under  the  weight  of  existing  evidence   in   favour  of  the 
hereditary  transmission  both  of  physical  and  mental  cha- 
racteristics.    A  more  common    idea  is,   that  minds   are 
originally  created    with    varied    endowments,    which    are 
received  at  once  from  the  great  first  cause,  without  the 
intervention  of  any  secondary  laws.      The  tendency  in 
modem  thought  to  remove  the  immediate  operation  of  the 
first  cause  farther  from  us,  and  to  introduce  the  idea  of 
evolution  and  development,  has  thrown  this  view  of  the 
case  also  considerably  into  the  background.     On  the  other 
hand,  the  facts  which  have  been  brought  to  light  respecting 


ii 


190 


PJiilosophical  Fragments, 


Lecture  L 


191 


'Hi 


il 


the  origin  of  species,  the  influence  of  natural  selection  in 
modifying  bodily  powers  and  mental  habits,  the  tracing  of 
predominant  characteristics  and  tendencies,  as  they  appear 
in  different  races  of  mankind,  to  the  influence  of  geographical 
position,  climate,  occupation,  and  circumstances — in  a  word, 
the  gradual  adaptation  to  its  whole  environment  which  is 
ever  going  on  in  all  natural  life,  and  in  human  life  in 
particular;  these  and  other  similar  facts  have  combined 
to  show  that  there  is  some  kind  of  hereditary  transmission 
of  physical  and  mental  qualities  from  age  to  age,  some 
hereditary  principle  which  stores  and  accumulates  power 
or  function,  thus  giving  rise  to  systematic  advancement 
in  human  civilisation,  progress  in  human  thought,  and 
development  in  human  faculty. 

It  would  not  lie  within  either  our  compass  or  our  purpose 
to  go  into  all  the  far-lying  proofs  of  this  principle.  I  only 
name  it  as  one  of  the  results  of  philosophical  thinking 
which  has  a  direct  application  to  human  life.  If  minds  are 
brought  into  being  bearing  within  their  original  structure 
the  stored  results  of  past  cultivation  in  the  form  of  varied 
and  differently  graduated  mental  power,  then  must  it 
follow  that  education,  which  provides  for  the  further 
development  of  such  power  in  the  individual,  ought  not  to 
be  uniform^  but  should  be  adapted  to  the  many  variations 
of  mind  which  nature  and  circumstances  produce. 

To  take  an  extreme  example.  No  one,  I  imagine,  would 
suppose  that  exactly  the  same  educational  means  were 
necessary  to  train  up  to  mental  maturity  a  young  American 
Indian  and  a  child  of  cultivated  European  parents.  The 
natural  tendencies  and  impulses  in  these  cases  being  so 
diverse,  a  quite  different  system  of  means  would  be  necessary 
to  produce  a  given  result.  The  same  thing  holds  good 
of  different  types  in  our  owti  country.  The  degenerated 
physique  and  blunted  nervous  system  of  the  half-cultivated 
peasant  of  the  west  of  Ireland,  the  sharpened  perceptive 
powers  and  low  moral  development  of  the  London  street 
Arab,  the  sluggish  brain  of  our  own  poor,  ill-paid  agricultural 
labourer,  all  show  to  a  very  striking  degree  the  results  of 
hereditary  tendencies  transmitted  from  parents  and  ancestors. 
Neither  are  these  varieties  confined  to  races  and  types.     As 


nature  will  sometimes  concentrate  in  the  individual  all  the 
best  or  all  the  worst  qualities  of  fathers  or  forefathers,  so 
even    in   the   more   developed,   more  refined,   and  more 
educated  ranks  of  mankind  we  light  perpetually  on  single 
cases  which  require  individual  treatment  to  correct  positive 
errors  or  stimulate  negative  defects.     The  moral  of  all  this 
in  regard  to  education  is,  that  we  must  not  expect  to  produce 
uniform  results  from  any  one  uniform  educational  system. 
Rousseau,  in   his  day,  tried  to  persuade  the  worid  (and 
neariy  did  persuade  it)  that  the  evils  of  society  all  arose 
from  a  false  civilisation  ;  and  that  we  have  only  to  go  back 
to  nature  and  educate  accordingly,  to  bring  society  back 
to  a  healthy  and  perfect  state.     Unfortunately,  he  never 
defined  what  he  meant  by  nature;  and  if  he  pretended 
to   exhibit   anything  like   a   perfect   specimen   of  natural 
education   in    himself,   that    specimen    was   certainly  un- 
fortunate, and  the  very  reverse  of  being  persuasive.     But 
educational   doctrinaires   of   a   far    higher    character   than 
Rousseau  have  stumbled  into  the  same  kind  of  error,  and 
propounded  some  stereotyped  system  which,  if  carried  out, 
they  conceived,  would  infallibly  lead  in  all  cases  to  the  same 
grand  results.     To  all  this  psychology  replies.  It  can  lead 
to  nothing  of  the  kind.     Humanity  presents  not  one  but  a 
thousand  educational  problems,  which  no  single  system  will 
solve.     The  real  educator  must  not  be  a  mere  doctrinaire, 
but  one  who  has  a  keen  insight  into  human  character,  who 
can  detect  great  faculties  in  their  germ,  and  is  alive  to  great 
defects ;  one,  therefore,  who,  by  probing  the  mental  diagnosis 
of  every  pupil,  can  adapt  his  agencies  to  the  wants  of  each. 
Doubtless  the  work  must  appear  arduous  in  proportion  as 
this  view  of  the  educator's  duty  prevails,  but  it  is  well  for 
him  to  know  the  difficulties  which  he  has  to  contend  with 
in  the  outset,  and  not  be  disappointed  when  some  of  his 
most  favourite  and  successful  schemes  end  in  failure  and 
disappointment.     Let  him  also  be  cheered  by  the  thought 
that  if  he  has  to  encounter  the  results  of  hereditary  tendency 
coming  down  to  him  from  the  past,  he  is  also  creating  a 
mind-force  for  the  future  which  may,  in  like  manner,  be 
carried  down  as  a  civilising  stream,  to  reappear  in  the  higher 
life  of  generations  yet  unborn. 


192 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Lecture  L 


193 


Let  us,  then,  set  down  this  as  one  principle  gained  from 
psychological  science :  that  no  uniform  system  of  education 
can  be  uniformly  successful,  but  that  educational  methods 
must  be  adapted,  by  a  wise  insight,  to  the  varieties  and 
consequent  wants  of  individual  character. 

I  will  now  state  another  psychological  law  which  is  of  the 
greatest  importance  in  relation  to  education,  namely  this — 

That  mental  power  ofivhatever  kind  grows  and  matures  by  the 
regular  accumulation  of  properly  adapted  experiences. 

This  may  seem  rather  vague  at  first,  but  will  appear 
clearer  as  we  proceed  with  the  explication.  Let  me  first 
show  the  working  of  the  principle  on  the  lower  sphere  of 
vital  force,  as  an  illustration  of  what  I  mean  by  it  in  the 
higher  sphere  of  mind  force.  How  is  it  that  our  bodily 
functions  grow  up  to  vigour  and  maturity?  Physiology 
shows  us  that  it  is  effected  by  a  perpetual  process  of  cell- 
formation.  The  primary  germ  of  the  human  body,  as  of 
every  other  organized  being,  is  the  cell.  The  development 
of  the  body  is  effected  by  the  addition  of  cell  to  cell^  and 
this  process  of  cell-formation  is  ever  going  on  as  physical 
power  is  required  in  different  directions.  The  physical 
powers  thus  developed  are  always  measured  by  the  character 
and  intensity  of  the  cell-formation,  and  in  this  way  are 
produced,  one  after  the  other,  all  the  bodily  functions 
necessary  for  life  and  wellbeing.  But  we  must  not  suppose 
that  when  the  bodily  functions  are  all  brought  into  a  state 
of  activity,  the  process  of  cell-formation  is  concluded.  Far 
from  it.  Waste  is  always  going  on,  new  power  has  always 
to  be  created ;  and  this  daily  creation  of  new  power  is  simply 
a  continuation  of  the  same  cellular  process  as  that  which 
guided  the  original  formation  of  the  organs  themselves. 
Whenever  additional  power,  therefore,  is  required  in  any 
organ,  we  may  see  clearly  how  it  is  produced.  It  is  produced 
by  continued  systematic  exercise ;  for  continued  systematic 
exercise,  giving  rise  to  regular  wear  and  expenditure  of  power, 
calls  forth  the  cellular  restorative  process  into  new  vigour ; 
and  thus  the  intensity  of  the  function  increases  in  proportion 
to  the  regular  and  healthy  repetition  of  the  exercise  itself 


I  need  not  go  into  the  proof  of  these  physiological  doctrines 
at  present.  They  He  on  the  surface  of  the  science,  and  are 
verified  as  well  in  our  daily  experience.  Nothing  is  more 
sure  and  certain  than  that  the  regular,  systematic,  and 
properly  adapted  exercise  of  any  bodily  function  increases 
power ;  and  physiological  experience  steps  in  to  show  us 
that  this  increased  power  is  produced  by  the  intensified 
activity  of  the  very  same  cellular  process  by  which  our 
bodily  organism  is  constructed  and  its  physical  reparation 
always  carried  on. 

Just   in   the   same   manner,  mind -power  is   developed 
by    the    gradual    accumulation    of    natural    experiences. 
There  is,  in  fact,  a  complete  analogy  between  the  growth 
of  our  bodily  functions   by  the   power  of  cell-forrnation, 
and   that   of   our    mental    functions    by   the    continuous 
addition    of    mental    germs,    until    they    are    at    length 
developed  into   a   so-called    faculty.       In   place   of   re- 
garding the  human  mind  (which  has  been  hitherto  usually 
the  case)  as  consisting  of  a  definite  series  of  separate  powers 
and  faculties   which  grow  up   necessarily  from  our   birth 
to    their    full    maturity,   it    is    far   more    in    accordance 
with  science  and   observation   that  we   should  regard  it 
as  one  individuality,  which  is  always  developing  power  or 
function  in  different  directions,  according  as  such  power  or 
function  is  drawn  out  by  the  influence  of  circumstances  and 
the   accumulation   of  experiences.     Some  portion  of  this 
power,  in  the  form  of  tendency  to  certain  mental  or  bodily 
acts  (as  we  have  before  shown),  is  inherited ;  but  by  far  the 
largest  portion  has  to  be  created  by  mental  exercise  and 
experience.      In  a  short  treatise  which  I  published  some 
years  ago,  on  the  Outlines  of  Psychology,  I  ventured  to  term 
these   accumulations  of  experience  mental  residua.      Dr. 
Carpenter  and  some  others   have  termed  them  substrata. 
The  German  psychologists  usually  term  them  Spuren,  or 
traces.     Whatever  we  term  them,  however,  their  nature  is 
equally  plain  and  palpable.     The  phenomena  of  the  case, 
briefly  stated,  are  these  :— When  a  given  mental  impression 
is  produced  upon  us,  it  remains  for  a  time  before  the  con- 
sciousness, and  then  gives  way  to  others.     We  know,  how- 
ever, that  when  it  disappears  it  is  not  absolutely  lost ;  for,  if 

N 


194 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Lecture  L 


195 


1^ 


it 


the  proper  conditions  recur,  the  impression  is  always  renewed. 
The  conclusion  is,  that  there  must  be  something  deposited 
withm  us  by  each  experience  which  subsists  permanently, 
and  which  remains  equally  there,  whether  at  any  given 
moment  it  be  the  immediate  object  of  consciousness  or  not. 
This  something  we  term  a  residuum. 

The  fact,  then,  of  the  real  existence  of  residua,  considered 
as  a  phenomenon  of  our  mental  life,  cannot  be  doubted. 
The  question  is,  In  what  light  are  we  to  regard  this  fact  ? 
The  most  correct  point  of  view,  I  believe,  is  this  :— That 
every  mental  act  which  we  perform,  every  experience  we 
gain,  leaves  behind  it,  in  the  entire  constitution  of  the  man, 
a  tendency  or  disposition  to  recur.  Every  time  this  recurrence 
takes  place,  the  tendency  in  question  becomes  stronger, 
and  the  links  of  association  more  widely  extended.  A 
perception  which  we  have  experienced  o?ice,  may  possibly 
never  have  the  opportunity  of  reappearing  again  in  the 
light  of  consciousness.  If  we  have  had  it  twice,  the  chances 
Qf  Its  doing  so  will  be  doubled ;  and  just  in  proportion  to 
the  number  of  times,  modified  by  vividness,  that  it  comes 
up  before,  our  attention,  will  the  disposition  or  tendency 
to  recurrence  become  stronger. 

In  this  way  it  is  that  we  acquire  a*  very  strong  power  of 
perception  in  some  particular  spheres  of  observation,  while 
the  power  remains  equally  weak  in  others ;  for  wherever 
the  mental  acts  have  been  repeated  most  frequently,  the 
mental  dispositions  will  become  the  most  active,  and  the 
perceptive  power  will  be  the  most  perfectly  developed. 
Every  man  becomes  quick  of  perception  in  his  own  par- 
ticular business  ;  for  it  is  exactly  here  that  he  is  constantly 
accumulating  residua,  and  increasing  the  facility  with  which 
his  perceptions  are  awakened.  The  case  is  precisely  analo- 
gous with  any  given  kind  of  action,  which  is  at  first  ex- 
tremely difficult,  but  which  becomes  more  and  more  easy 
to  repeat,  until  we  can  do  it  as  a  habit,  without  the  least 
forethought  or  attention.  Thus  the  tendency  shown  by 
any  mental  act  to  recur,  and  that  in  exact  proportion  to  the 
number  and  vividness  of  former  repetitions,  is  a  law  which 
holds  equally  good  in  the  sphere  of  our  intellectual  and  our 
qctive  powers. 


The  importance  of  this  question,  educationally,  can 
hardly  be  overstated.  If  we  really  hold  here  in  our  hand 
the  LAW  by  which  our  primary  intellectual  tendencies,  dis- 
positions, and  faculties  are  created,  then  the  work  of  the 
educator  is  well  defined.  See  how  it  applies  to  our  percep- 
tive life.  According  to  the  law  above  stated,  it  is  shown 
that  we  learn  from  our  perceptions  exactly  what  the  mind 
is  trained  to  learn  there.  A  philosophical  observer  will 
see  a  thousand  significant  facts  in  the  course  of  his  daily 
experience  which  a  careless  observer  will  not  see  at  all. 
Where  large  accumulations  of  residua  have  been  formed  by 
well-selected  examples,  all  tending  to  the  elucidation  of 
principles,  a  mind  force  is  created  which  is  ever  after  called 
into  exercise  by  every  new  perception  bearing  upon  them. 
The  educator,  holding  in  his  hand  the  law  by  which  intel- 
lectual power  is  generated,  has  to  bring  all  his  efforts  to 
bear  upon  the  work  of  building  up  this  power  in  the 
most  important  and  suitable  directions.  An  ill-educated 
mind  may  accumulate  power  in  useless  directions,  i.e.  may 
become  quick  and  active  in  matters  which  serve  very  little 
good  purpose.  It  is  for  the  educator  to  see  that  the  experi- 
ences daily  accumulated  tend  to  the  elucidation  oi fruitful 
truths  and  principles.  In  this  way  he  may  create  at  once 
the  love  and  the  power  of  patient  observation,  of  scientific 
research,  of  philosophical  analysis,  of  moral  reflection. 
Mental  residua,  wisely  accumulated  in  any  of  these  direc- 
tions, cannot  fail  to  increase  and  develope  corresponding 
powers  of  mind,  that  consolidate  into  similar  habits  and 
tendencies  of  thought  in  after  life. 

Equally  great,  also,  is  the  application  of  the  law  of  residua 
to  moral  training.  A  mind  trained  to  virtue  will  pass 
through  scenes  of  vice  without  ever  being  tainted  by  them, 
just  because  there  are  no  mental  residua  laid  up  with 
which  those  scenes  have  any  affinity,  and  consequently  no 
inward  images  of  evil  which  they  can  awaken.  The  edu- 
cator, be  assured,  has  great  power  to  regulate  moral  dispo- 
sitions ;  but  to  do  this,  he  must  keep  evil  examples  far  out 
of  sight,  and  must  see  that  inward  experiences  are  accumu- 
lated from  the  earliest  dawn  of  reason,  which  shall  turn  the 
mental  tendencies  into  the  path  of  right  thinking  and  right 


H 


196 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


conduct.  It  depends  mainly  upon  this  kind  of  early  train- 
ing what  lessons  are  afterwards  learned  in  the  school  of 
nature  and  of  human  life.  A  fatal  facility  towards  the  repro- 
duction of  false  or  evil  ideas,  when  once  formed,  can  never  be 
wholly  eradicated ;  for  the  residua,  once  created,  can  never 
be  wholly  destroyed.  The  only  chance  of  antagonizing 
them  is  by  attempting  to  accumulate  stronger  tendencies 
in  another  direction.  On  the  contrary,  we  may  be  equally 
certain  that  dispositions  to  right  thinking  and  right  conduct, 
when  once  formed  and  laid  up  as  so  much  mind  function 
within  us,  will  never  be  lost.  Even  though  afterwards  over- 
grown with  evil,  the  springs  are  still  there,  and  may  be 
touched  when  least  expected.  The  very  same  tendencies, 
moreover,  which  are  thus  created  by  educational  agencies  m 
the  individual,  may  be  also  cultivated  on  a  large  scale  in  the 
nation.  What  is  termed  common  sense  in  a  nation,  is  nothing 
but  a  substratum  of  unconscious  experiences  out  of  which 
our  judgments  silently  flow ;  the  whole  course  of  public 
opinion  is  really  guided  by  accumulations  of  mental  residua 
which  are  tacitly  built  up  in  the  course  of  national  educa- 
tion, and  perhaps  only  come  prominently  into  consciousness 
long  after  they  have  been  really  operating  and  shaping  the 
events  of  human  history. 

Here,  then,  we  have  another  great  educational  principle 
deduced  from  psychology,  that  mind  function  in  any  direc- 
tion, whether  intellectual  or  moral,  may  be  created  by  a 
wisely-formed  and  well-connected  accumulation  of  experi- 
ences in  the  mind  of  the  pupil. 

We  come  now  to  a  third  very  important  principle  in 
psychology,  and  to  which  I  shall  crave  your  close  attention, 
viz. : — 

That  similar  experiences  laid  up  in  the  mind  as  residua, 
coalesce,  and  blend  together  into  one  united  whole,  thus 
creating  a  special  mental  power  in  any  given  direction. 

This  is  simply  a  further  development  of  the  doctrine  of 
accumulation  which  we  have  been  just  explaining.  To 
give  an  example  of  what  I  mean,  let  us  place  before  us 
mentally  some  large  object,  as  a  cathedral  or  a  mountain. 


Lecture  I. 


197 


If  we  only  see  it  once  and  then  try  to  recall  it,  we  shall  pro- 
bably find  that  the  residuum  it  has  left  behmd  is  weak  and 
indistinct     If  we  gaze  on  it  long  or  often,  we  obtain  a  great 
many  different  points  of  view ;  each  point  of  view  leaves  its 
trace  in  the  mind,  and  the  whole  of  these  traces  then  blend 
together  into  one  vivid  and  distinct  mental  image  of  the 
object  in   question.      Here  a  very  important  principle  is 
involved— namely,  that  when  numerous  residua  of  one  and 
the  same  object,  or  of  similar  objects,  are  accumulated  and 
coalesce,  the  resulting  mental  perception  will,  in  ordinary 
cases,  be  strongly  and  readily  reproduced,  just  in  proportion 
to  the  number  of  residua  which  enter  into  it.     And  here 
you  will  observe  that  we  get  an  important  insight  into  the 
mode  in  which  om  perceptive  power  is  constructed. 

The  reason  why  the  first  perceptions  of  infancy  are  weak, 
arises  from  the  fact  that  very  few  residua  have  as  yet  blended 
together  in  the  mind,  and  that  a  new  impression    conse- 
quently, has  very  little  power  of  appealing  to  or  calling  up 
any  large  amount  of  former  experience.    The  process  of  com- 
bination, however,  begins  very  early,  especially  with  regard 
to  those  objects  which  off'er  the  most  constant  materials  tor 
observation.     Hence  the  perceptions  of  the  child,  at  first 
dim  and  uncertain,  soon  become,  within  its  own  narrow 
circle  very  vivid  and  distinct,— the  more  so,  of  course,  from 
the  limited  range  of  materials  which  as  yet  occupy  the 
consciousness.     If  every  perception  received  were  to  remain 
distinct,  the  knowledge  resulting  from  our  external  observa- 
tions would  consist  of  an  infinite  number  of  weak  and 
evanescent  impressions.    As  the  mind,  therefore,  grew  more 
mature,  and  the  impressions  received  by  it  more  varied,  our 
knowledge  would  naturally  tend  to  become  infinitesimally 
minute  and  proportionally  confused.     This  result  is  obviated 
through  the  working  of  the  law  by  which  similar  residua 
blend  into  a  certain  number  of  generalized  and  classified 
perceptions.     By  means  of  this  law,  our  experiences  mstinc- 
tively  arrange  themselves  under  certain  heads,  i\i&  multi- 
plicity of  our  impressions  blend  into  combined  images,  and 
classified  perceptive  knowledge   is  the  result.      Every  new 
perception -subsequently  acquired  can  now  appeal  to  some 
mass  of  already  accumulated  experience,  which  draws  it 


r.i 


198 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


afresh  into  consciousness,  and  then  blends  with  it  into  one 
whole.  This  accounts  for  the  fact  that  the  most  fragmentary 
perceptions  of  objects  spontaneously  complete  themselves 
in  our  consciousness.  The  small  surface  of  colouring  which 
the  eye  takes  in  when  we  look  upon  a  distant  church  or 
mountain  or  landscape,  awakens  the  whole  mass  of  collateral 
and  connected  experiences  hitherto  accumulated,  and  thus 
builds  up,  as  it  were,  the  entire  object  within  the  conscious- 
ness in  all  its  minuteness  and  detailed  reality.  Now,  add 
to  this  the  fact  that  residua  manifest  themselves  as  so  many 
tendencies  to  recurrence,  and  it  follows  that  the  larger  their 
accumulation  in  any  direction,  the  stronger  that  tendency 
becomes.  Thus,  men  passionately  devoted  to  any  given 
branch  of  knowledge  find  food  for  observation  everywhere. 
They  have  an  eye  for  a  thousand  similarities  which  wholly 
escape  the  ordinary  observer,  and  every  object  connected 
with  their  favourite  studies  touches  some  link  of  association, 
blends  with  some  former  experiences,  and  thus  goes  to  in- 
crease at  once  the  breadth  and  minuteness  of  their  know- 
ledge. Whether  Newton  first  conceived  the  law  of  universal 
attraction  from  witnessing  the  fall  of  an  apple,  I  do  not 
pretend  to  say;  but  the  assertion,  if  not  true,  is  still  well 
adapted  to  illustrate  the  mental  fact  we  are  explaining, 
showing  us  thai  when  there  is  a  iarge  number  of  mental  ex- 
periences blended  together  in  reference  to  any  conceivable 
subject,  the  mind  will  draw  into  it  every  fresh  illustration, 
and  complete  its  knowledge  from  the  most  insignificant  and 
fragmentary  intimations. 

Here,  then,  is  another  great  engine  which  the  educator 
holds  in  his  hand.  If  brain  power  or  mind  power  (which- 
ever we  choose  to  call  it)  can  be  built  up  in  any  particular 
sphere  of  knowledge  or  action  by  the  accumulation  and 
blending,  as  it  were,  into  one  mass  of  an  indefinite  number 
of  similar  experiences,  all  tending  to  the  same  point,  then 
how  vast  becomes  the  importance  of  clear,  correct,  and 
logical  teaching — teaching  which  keeps  apart  all  associations 
which  would  tend  to  confuse  the  thoughts  of  the  pupil,  and 
to  bring  together  all  the  most  important  facts  and  considera- 
tions which  bear  upon  great  truths  and  living  principles  ! 
For  what  are  great  human  truths  but  the  combined  result, 


Lecture  L 


199 


the  quintessence,  as  it  were,  of  numberless  experiences  well 
chosen  and  arranged,  all  illustrating  some  great  principle, 
all  maintaining  some  great  doctrine,  until  that  doctnne  is 
made  at  last  to  stand  out  to  the  mind  in  clearest  relief. 
And  this  imperishable  service  the  teacher  can  offer  to  his 
pupil,  w^hen  he  has  helped  to  surround  him  with  mental 
associations,  multiplied  illustrations  of  a  truth  from  every 
source,  and  thus  made  the  whole  blend  together  in  the 
creation  of  one  great,  overpowering  conviction.     AH  our 
convictions,  believe   me,   come  to  us  really  in  this  way. 
Whether  they  belong  to  the  domain  of  science,  history, 
morals,  or  religion,  the  subjective  process  of  formation  is 
the  same.     A  few  instances,  culled  here  and  there,  and  in- 
terspersed with  other  materials,  will  never  consolidate  into 
a  great  mental  fact,  guiding  thought  and  conduct ;  but  take 
a  vast  number  of  instances,  collect  them  from  every  quarter, 
show  that  they  all  bear  upon  one  and  the  same  truth,  and 
see  the  result.     As  these  similar  instances  accumulate,  they 
all  blend  together  more  and  more  firmly  in  the  mind  of  the 
pupil,  each  succeeding  one  adds  new  force  and  intensity  to 
the  whole,  and  the  whole,  when  consolidated,  constructs  the 
great  elements  of  character  which  govern  the  whole  man, 
and  guide  at  once  his  thinking  and  his  action.     Mental, 
moral,  and  volitional  power  can  thus  be  alike  formed  and 
intensified  by  wise  teaching— that  is,  by  the  due  accumula- 
tion of  mental  experiences  all  bearing  upon  those  special 
convictions  which  it  is  the  great  purpose  of  the  teacher  to 

instil.  ,      ,.        ^  .    -1 

We  may  set  down  this  doctrine  of  the  blending  of  similar 
residua  into  one  great  mental  power,  as  another  psycho- 
logical gain  to  the  interests  of  true  education,  warning  the 
teacher  against  discursive  instruction,  and  showing  him  that 
to  produce  living  convictions  in  the  pupil,  he  must  proceed 
logically  in  the  selection  of  facts,  truths,  principles,  which 
bear  upon  them,  and  blend  together  at  last  into  one  great 
focus. 

We  come  now  to  a  fourth  very  important  point  in  psycho- 
logy, namely, 

The  nature  and  cultivation  of  the  memory. 


I  ' 


200 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


It  is  popularly  taken  for  granted  that  memory  is  a  sepa- 
rate, irreducible,  and  consequently  original  faculty  of  mind, 
which  is  bom  with  us,  and  has  to  be  strengthened  simply 
by  exercise.     This,  we  shall  see,  is  a  very  imperfect,  and, 
indeed,  fundamentally  inaccurate  view  of  the  whole  question. 
The  nature  and  constitution  of  memory  results  naturally 
from  the  facts  I  have  already  laid  before  you,  in  regard  to 
the  formation  and  conservation  of  mental  residua.     Every 
mental   experience   leaves  a  permanent    trace  behind  it. 
This  is  the  fundamental  fact  of  memory.     No  one  of  these 
traces,  we  have  good  reason  to  believe,  is  destructible  any 
more  than  a  single  atom  of  matter  or  a  single  development 
of  force.     The  residua  we  are  constantly  storing  up  may 
remain  separate,  or  may  blend  together  into  groups  ;  but  in 
every  case  they  continue  to  exist,  and  may  be  called  back 
into  consciousness  at  any  moment  whenever  the  right  spring 
is  touched,  and  the  proper  conditions  for  bringing  them 
back  recur.     The  whole  of  the  facts  of  memory  are  really 
involved  in  the  conservation  and  reproduction  of  our  mental 
residua;   and  the   point  we  have  now  more  especia.lly  to 
consider  is,  how  this  power  of  reproduction  can  be  cultivated 
and  secured — so  secured  as  to  bring  it  to  a  large  extent 
even  under  the  immediate  power  of  volition. 

Now  notice  this  great  fact  of  our  mental  constitution, 
that  we  can  only  exercise  a  voluntary  power  over  those 
mental  states  in  the  construction  of  which  the  mind  itself 
has  been  consciously  active.  A  sensation,  an  emotion,  an 
immediate  perception  of  some  present  object,  we  can  never 
recall  as  it  at  first  existed.  We  had  nothing  to  do  con- 
sciously with  their  original  production,  and  we  can  never 
experience  them  a  second  time  except  by  the  concurrence 
of  the  same  external  circumstances  which  first  called  them 
forth.  Not  so,  however,  with  those  mental  states  which  are 
the  result  of  the  mind's  free  activity.  Where  this  activity 
has  been  largely  at  work,  even  in  our  perceptions,  we  can  to 
a  large  extent  recall  them.  Let  some  striking  object  be 
presented  to  us  in  which  we  are  interested,  such  as  a  piece 
of  architecture  or  sculpture,  and  the  mind  at  once  sets  to 
work  to  master  and  comprehend  it.  It  seizes  upon  this 
feature  and  upon  that,  lets  the  more  uninteresting  points 


Lecture  L 


201 


sink  away  from  observation,  and  brings  the  more  mteresting 
ones  forward  into  especial  prominence.     It  compares  one 
part  with  another,  separates  here,  unites  there,  and  con- 
structs for  itself  a  mental  image  of  the  whole,  which  though 
occasioned  by  the  objective  reality  before  us,  is  stiU  mainly 
the  work  of  the  mind's  own  free  and  conscious  activity 
Here,  then,  memory  can  find  its  proper  materials.     What 
the  t^ind  has  constructed,  the  mind  can  to  a  large  extent 
recall;  and  we  must  now  consider  for  a  moment  how  it  is 
that  it  can  be  recalled,  and  what  amount  of  volition  we  can 
exercise  over  the  whole  process.     First   there  can  be  no 
doubt  but  that  the  laws  of  association  have  much  to  do 
with  the  whole  fact  of  mental  reproduction,  for  those  objects 
are  most  easily  recalled  with  which  we  can  form  numerous 
links  of  association  in  the  mind.     But  the  laws  of  association 
work  blindly  and  involuntarily;   they  cannot  account  lor 
voluntary  memory,  or  explain  in  what  way  recollection  can 

^^aTo  Althing,  again,  which  has  much  to  do  with  memory 
is  attention.     What  we  attend  to  closely,  we  can  remember 
far  more  readily  and  perfectly  than  what  we  hold  before 
the  consciousness   only  vaguely  for  an  instant  and  then 
dismiss.     But  this  is  only  another  way  of  stating  the  fact 
already  noticed,  that  we  remember  only  in  proportion  as  the 
mind's  free  activity  is  engaged  in  the  production  of  the 
taage  or  idea  which  is  to  be   recalled,    .Attention  ahne 
does  not  suffice  to  explain  all  the  peculiarities  of  the  case 
We  often  bend  all  our  mental  energies  to  a  subject,  ana 
make  a  great  effort  to  retain  it ;  but  still  all  our  efforts 
prove  unavailing.      The  memory  proves  treacherous  and 
incompetent,  the  subject  leaves  a  confused  mpres^'O"' 
and  in  proportion  to  this  confusedness,  it  escapes  the  mind 
and  baffles  all  our  endeavours  to  recall  it  with  any  degree 
of  vividness  or  minuteness  of  outline. 

This  brings  us,  I  think,  to  the  consciousness  that  the 
power  of  recollection  greatly  depends  on  the  order  and 
Langement  of  the  ideas,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  object 
of  our  memory  stands,  and  to  which  it  is  related  No  one 
with  any  amount  of  attention,  for  example,  could  retain  a 
perfect  recollection  of  all  the  stars  and  groups  of  stars  as 


202 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


* 


I  (f 


they  appear  in  the  sky,  with  no  further  mental  activity 
exercised  upon  them  than  a  mere  stedfast  gaze.     But  let 
some  principle  of  order  and  arrangement  be  brought  in,  let 
the  groups  be  classified  and  the  relative  positions  marked, 
let  the  whole  firmament  be  mapped  out  on  some  intelligible 
principle,  and  a  clue  at  once  is  given  by  which  well-nigh 
the  whole  can  be  retained  in  the  memory,  and  the  separate 
parts  at  any  time  recalled.     And  what  is  true  here  is  equally 
true,  according  to  its  measure,  in  every  other  case.     Nothing 
we  see,  hear,  or  think  of  exists  alone.     Everything  stands  in 
the  midst  of  a  system  of  ideas,  of  which  it  forms  a  part ;  and 
it  IS  by  consciously  surrounding  it  by  a  network  of' such 
ideas,  all  duly  arranged  and  ordered,  that  we  are  enabled 
to  go  back  to  the  exact  point  in  the  system  where  we  shall 
be  able  to  recover  any  given  portion  and  bring  it  back  to 
consciousness.     We  will  suppose  the  object  we  wish  to  recall 
to  be  a  phenomenon  of  nature,  one,  e.g.,  out  of  the  thousand 
facts  which  chemical  science  presents.     Here  the  chance  of 
retaining  one  out  of  such  a  multitude  appears  very  small. 
But  the  fact  in  question  stands  in  a  system  of  cognate 
phenomena.     We  know  the  elements  which  are  at  work, 
we  know  their  properties,  we  know  the  effect  of  their  relative 
combinations,  and  then  the  given  phenomenon  comes  before 
us  merely  as  one  particular  example  amongst  a  series  of 
causes  and  effects,  of  which  we  well  know  the  beginning, 
middle,  and  end.     This  being  the  case,  we  can  pass  men- 
tally along  the  series,  from  any  point,  until  we  come  to  the 
fact  itself,  and  thus  lift  it,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  whole  net- 
work of  ideas  by  which  it  is  surrounded.     In  regard  to  the 
affairs  of  human  life,  the  very  same  principle  holds  good 
as  in  the  objects  of  art  and  science.     The  duties  which 
devolve  upon  every  one  of  us  form,  as  it  were,  a  system  of 
agenda  which  must  be  present  more  or  less  to  the  mind  of 
every  practical  and  thoughtful  man.     We  know  well  that  if 
due  attention  be  directed  to  the  whole  system  of  duties 
belonging  to  us,  and  proper  order  of  connection  be  estab- 
lished amongst  them,  it  is  morally  impossible  that  anything 
of  magnitude  and  importance  can,  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, be   forgotten.      Thus   memory,   you   perceive,   is 
drawn  of  necessity  into  the  sphere  of  human  duty,     'to 


Lecture  I, 


103 


overlook  an  engagement,  or  forget  ah   obligation,  shows 
that  there  must  be  a  culpable  neglect  somewhere.     It  shows 
that  the  mind  has  voluntarily  dismissed  such  obligations 
from  its  attention,  or  that  it  has  failed  to  entertain  such  a 
sense  of  human  duty  as  to  induce  it  to  form  for  itself  a 
system  of  practical  activity  in  which  every  duty  shall  find  its 
place,  and  thus  present  itself  in  proper  order  to  the  memory 
whenever  its  fulfilment  is  demanded.    The  power  of  memory 
may  thus  be  represented  to  us  under  the  figure  of  a  spider's 
web,  which  sends  out  its  threads  in  all  directions,  establish- 
ing connection  with  every  part,  and  with  the  central  point 
of  the  whole.     Most  important  is  this  whole  view  of  memory 
from  an  educational  point  of  view.     It  shows  us  in  what 
way  we  must  proceed  in  order  to  fix  any  important  truth 
indelibly  on  the  mind  of  the  scholar,  and  enable  him  to 
recall  it  at  will.     Whatever  be  the  fact  or  the  truth  which 
the  teacher  wishes  to  convey,  he  must  establish  some  coti- 
nection  between  it  and  other  well-known  ideas.     For  this 
purpose  the  teacher  will  not  merely  enunciate  what  he  desires 
to  convey  to  the  mind  of  the  pupil,  but  he  will  question  and 
cross-question  upon  it,  to  see  whether  or  not  it  exists  to  the 
scholar  as  an  isolated  fact ;   and  if  so,  whether  he  carinot 
link  it  by  numerous  ties  to  other  ideas,  and  work  it  up  into 
his  whole  system  of  instruction,  so  as  to  multiply  the  bridges 
across  which  the  mind  may  return  to  it  at  any  future  period. 
Thus,  you  perceive,  the  cultivation  of  memory,  instead  of 
implying  the  mere  exercise  of  a  single  faculty,  depends 
more  than  anything  else  on  the  establishment  of  order  and 
connection  in  our  ideas.     To  cultivate  it  successfully,  we 
must   inculcate   some   kind   of    system    in   our  thoughts; 
in  fact,  the  whole  habit  of  memory  is  almost  equivalent 
to  the  habit   of  order  and    method,  and  it    is  thus,  and 
only   thus,  that   its  cultivation  and   its   due   development 
can   be  brought  strictly  within  the  scope  of  the  teacher's 
influence. 

There  is  yet,  fifthly,  one  other  gxtdX  psychological  principle 
to  which  I  must  refer  as  having  a  very  direct  bearing  upon 
education,  and  that  is 

The  law  of  the  association  of  ideas. 


204 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


To  explain  this,  let  us  go  back  for  a  moment  to  our 
starting-point,  viz.  the  accumulation  of  mental  experiences, 
or,  as  we  have  rather  termed  them,  the  storing  up  of  mental 
residua.     Where  these  residua  possess  similarity^  a  process 
of  blending  goes  on  until  great  mental  convictions  are  con- 
structed (in  the  manner  above  explained)  from  the  concen- 
tration of  mind  force  thus  created.     But  observe  that  num- 
berless residua  are  constantly  being  formed  in  the  mind 
which  are  altogether  dissimilar.     In  this  case  the  process 
of  blending  does  not  take  place ;   but,  on  the  contrary,  a 
constant  action  and  reaction  of  ideas  sets  in  as  to  which  shall 
take  possession  of  the  consciousness  and  come  up  before 
the  mind's  attention.     Ideas  in  the  mind,  so  far  as  they  are 
incapable  of  blending  together,  are  related  to  each  other 
somewhat  in  the  same  manner  as  antagonistic  forces.    When 
one  occupies  the  consciousness,  it  can  only  be  displaced 
by  a  second,  on  condition  of  the  latter  possessing  for  the 
moment  a  greater  force ;  and  then  this  latter,  in  expelling 
the  former  from  consciousness,  loses   a  portion  of  its  own 
force  equivalent  to  that  which  it  suppresses.      Now  the 
power  of  association  between  any  two  ideas  in  the  mind  is 
represented  by  the  amount  of  force  which  the  one  has 
expended  from  time  to  time  upon  the  other.      Two  dis- 
similar ideas,  which  have  never  acted  or  reacted  in  any  way 
upon  each  other,  can  have  no  inward  connection  or  associa- 
tion.    If  they  have,  on  the  other  hand,  been  brought  into 
mental  collision,  the  one  displacing  the  other,  and  the  latter 
again,  perchance,  gaining  ground,  and  repressing  the  former 
in  its  turn,  then  a  close  association  is  formed  between  them, 
which  leads  to  their  future  habitual  connection  in  the  play 
of  consciousness.     Thus,  if  while  gazing  on  some  particular 
object, — say  one  of  the  pyramids  of  Egypt, — the  perception 
of  it  has  been  displaced  by  the  sudden  and  unexpected 
appearance  of  a  friend,  an  association  between  the  two  will 
be  established,  the  one  will  always  recall  the  other;  and  this 
association  will  be  strong  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  force 
which  has  been  expended,  either  at  one  time  or  at  different 
times,  in  their  mutual  action  and  reaction  on  each  other.    The 
strength  of  association,  therefore,  may  be  stated  as  equal  in 
amount  to  the  action  and  reaction  of  the  associated  ideas. 


Lecture  /. 


205 


The  objective  laws  of  association  are  pretty  generally 
regarded  as  the  following:  —  (i)  The  law  of  similarity 
and  contrast;  (2)  The  law  of  contiguity  in  time  and 
place;  (3)  The  law  of  logical  connection;  and  (4)  The  law 
of  cause  and  effect. 

If  it  be  asked.  How  do  similarity,  contiguity  in  time  or 
place, — or.  How  do  logical  and  causal  relations, — bring  our 
ideas  into  collision,  and  establish  a  mental  association  between 
them  ?  the  simple  answer  is,  that  they  do  so  hy  forcing  the 
mind's  attention  to  concentrate  itself  for  a  time  upon  them. 
I  may  see  the  same  two  objects  together  a  thousand  times  ; 
but  if  my  mind  is  fully  occupied,  and  my  attention  absorbed, 
no  association  will  be  formed.  I  may  see  the  same  sequences 
occur  as  frequently  as  possible ;  but  if  I  never  observe  them 
attentively,  they  will  establish  no  connection  with  each  other 
in  idea.  The  power  of  attention,  then  (attention,  voluntary 
or  forced),  is  the  primary  subjective  ground  of  association ; 
for  it  is  in  proportion  to  the  fixedness  of  our  attention, 
produced  either  voluntarily  or  by  overwhelming  outward 
circumstances,  that  ideas  come  into  collision  with  each 
other,  and  enter  upon  the  process  of  mutual  action  and 

reaction. 

Now,  observe,  it  is  mainly  these  associations  of  things 
and  ideas  with  each  other  which  form  what  we  may  term 
the  whole  body  of  human  experience  —  that  is  to  say,  it  is 
when  things  associated  in  nature  or  in  the  economy  of 
human  life  become  similarly  associated  in  our  own  minds, 
so  that  we  understand  and  can  foresee  their  connections 
and  sequences,  that  we  can  be  said  to  possess  a  fund  of 
experimental  knowledge.  Men  of  little  experience  are  men 
who  have  formed  very  few  useful  and  fruitful  associations. 
They  have  been,  perhaps,  recluse  in  their  habits,  shut  up 
within  their  own  thoughts,  inattentive  habitually  to  things 
around  them ;  their  education,  perchance,  has  been  loose 
or  unpractical ;  and  their  associations,  in  place  of  coinciding 
with  the  natural  connections  of  things  without,  have  been 
confined  to  objects  which  have  really  little  to  do  either  with 
nature  or  human  life.  Such  men  we  term  variously  men  of 
no  experience,  men  of  deficient  judgment,  men  of  ill-regu- 
lated intellect,  men  who,  with  all  the  learning  they  sometimes 


I 


ii 


206 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Lecture  L 


207 


possess,  exercise  but  little  common  sense,  and  show  little 
capacity  for  the  business  of  life. 

Our  knowledge  of  men  and  things,  our  knowledge  of 
Jiuman  truth,  our  knowledge  of  the  connections  existing  in 
nature,  our  knowledge  of  the  tendency  of  events,  our 
knowledge  of  science,  of  history,  of  everything  practically 
valuable,  depends  more  than  anything  else  upon  the  matiner 
in  which  our  ideas  have  been  associated  together,  and  the 
closeness  with  which  our  inward  connections  of  thought 
have  been  made  to  resemble  the  outward  connections  of 
things.  Here,  then,  is  a  fruitful  topic  of  consideration  for 
the  educator.  When  teaching  is  indefinite  and  loose,  the 
associations  between  facts  and  ideas  formed  by  the  pupils 
must  inevitably  be  loose  and  indefinite  also.  The  true 
teacher  should  himself  be  a  man  of  large  and  sound  experi- 
ence. If  he  teach  science,  for  example,  he  should  well  know 
the  connections  between  phenomena,  and  be  able  to  lead 
the  minds  of  the  pupils  away  from  a  distracted  habit  of 
observation  to  the  due  perception  and  appreciation  of 
natural  laws.  If  he  be,  again,  a  teacher  of  history,  he 
should  have  large  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  lead  his 
pupils  to  comprehend  the  characteristic  tendencies  of  human 
actions  on  a  large  scale.  Whatever  he  teach,  he  should 
aim  not  so  much  at  curious  recondite  and  unpractical 
research  as  to  train  the  judgment  and  guide  the  associa- 
tions in  all  those  questions  which  lie  nearest  to  us  in 
nature  and  in  everyday  life.  I  know  that  all  this  is  far  easier 
said  than  done;  but  my  present  purpose  is  to  point  out 
what  should  be  aimed  at,  if  not  fully  accomplished,  and  to 
give  some  idea  as  to  the  bearing  which  the  psychological 
principles  we  have  been  considering,  if  faithfully  applied, 
would  have  upon  the  tendencies  and  methods  of  modern 
education.  We  may  lay  it  down,  therefore,  as  a  doctrine 
amply  supported  by  psychological  observation,  that  the 
more  close  to  nature,  and  the  more  strictly  connected  and 
logical  our  teaching  becomes,  the  more  valid  and  wholesome 
will  be  the  entire  result. 

There  are  two  or  three  important  psychological  doctrines 
which  I  had  intended  to  bring  forward  in  the  present  lecture, 
had  it  not  been  that  their  due  consideration  would  occupy 


more  time  than  could  at  present  be  devoted  to  them.  I  had 
intended,  for  example,  to  refer  you  to  the  philosophical 
nature  of  words  as  signs  of  ideas,  and  to  show  how  the 
study  of  them  tends  to  enrich  the  mind,  and  aid  it  in  the 
comprehension  of  the  ideas  themselves.  I  had  also  intended 
to  refer  to  the  cultivation  of  volitional  power,  which  is  in 
every  way  as  important,  educationally,  as  is  the  cultivation 
of  the  more  purely  intellectual  faculties.  In  fact,  the  want 
of  volitional  power  is  far  more  frequently  the  stumbling- 
block  in  the  way  of  mental  advancement  than  the  want 
of  intellectual  capacity ;  and  there  is  probably  hardly  one 
of  us  here  present  who  does  not  feel  conscious  that  he  is 
intellectually  capable  of  almost  any  amount  of  acquirement, 
if  he  could  only  brace  his  mind  well  up  to  the  effort. 
These  and  some  other  points,  however,  I  must  leave  for 
the  present,  hoping  to  have  occasion  in  one  or  other  of  our 
succeeding  lectures  to  return  to  them  in  some  more  applied 
and  practical  form. 

There  has  probably  na^er  been  a  time  in  the  history  of 
our  country  in  which  the  whole  problem  of  education  has 
lain  open  more  readily  for  revision  than  the  present. 
Hitherto  we  have  been  following  more  or  less  closely  in  the 
paths  of  tradition.  Our  instruments,  models,  and  methods 
have  come  down  to  us  mostly  from  the  age  of  Greek  and  Latin 
civilisation  ;  and  as  they  were  employed  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
so  they  continue  in  force  more  or  less  to  the  present  day. 
Considering  that  education  is  mainly  empirical,  this  is  not 
perhaps  to  be  wondered  at.  The  artistic  and  linguistic 
refinement  arrived  at  in  Athens  was  certainly  more  perfect 
than  anything  which  has  been  developed  sitice  that  time  in 
the  history  of  the  world.  But  this  was  not  arrived  at  by 
any  of  the  methods  we  now  employ.  With  the  Greeks  there 
was  no  study  of  language  beyond  the  study  of  their  own ; 
there  were  no  models  of  style  drawn  from  foreign  peoples 
and  nations.  They  nursed  and  cultivated  their  own 
genius,  and  never  sought  to  take  lessons  from  that  of  their 
neighbours.  It  is  certainly  a  grave  consideration  for  us, 
whether  this  is  not  after  all  the  true  method  of  national 
culture ;  and  whether  we,  in  common  with  most  other 
European  families,  have  not  suffered  from  the  comparative 


208 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


contempt  thrown  upon  all  genius  indigenous  in  the  people, 
and  the  extraordinary  value  attributed  to  the  cultivation 
of  ancient  learning.  Certainly,  if  we  value  Greek  models 
beyond  every  other,  we  ought  to  consider  how  far  it  is  wise 
or  reasonable  to  follow  the  exact  contrary  path  which  they 
followed  in  attaining  to  that  pitch  of  culture  which  we,  it 
seems,  can  admire  and  imitate,  but  never  reach. 

The  Romans  drew  their  culture  mainly  from  Greece. 
They  began  the  method  of  neglecting  their  own  genius  in 
favour  of  foreign  models.  No  doubt  they  studied  these 
models  to  good  purpose,  and  founded  a  wonderful  literature 
upon  them ;  but  the  Roman  literature  inevitably  bore  upon 
it  that  secondary  stamp  which  arises  from  imitation,  and 
wholly  failed  to  reach  that  perfect  form  which  characterized 
the  models  after  which  it  strove. 

As  the  Roman  age  declined,  and  the  bases  of  modem 
nationalities  arose,  the  imitation  became  still  more  slavish. 
Whatever  culture  there  was  developed  in  the  Middle  Ages,  it 
not  only  failed  to  bear  upon  it  \\i^  fresh  stamp  of  originality, 
but  it  was  still  more  closely  drawn  from  the  Roman  literature 
than  the  Roman  itself  had  been  from  the  Greek.     In  other 
words,  it  was  not  only  an  imitation,  but  it  was  the  imitation 
of  an  imitation ;   it  was  not  only  framed  upon  a  foreign 
model,  but  took  for  its  model  that  which  was  itself  derived 
from  a  previous  model.     It  is  little  to  be  wondered  at.  there- 
fore, that  the  Middle  Ages  were  so  destitute  of  literary  dis- 
tinction ;  and  that  whatever  sparks  of  genius  did  illumine 
the  surrounding  darkness,  they  only  flashed  out  here  and 
there  from  the  rough  efforts  of  native  genius,  where  Latin 
was  unknown,  and  imitation  therefore  impossible.     Surely 
the   genius   which   invented  the  Gothic  architecture   was 
capable  of  distinction  in  other  spheres  of  art  as  well,  and 
would  have  produced  a  corresponding  literature,  had  not 
all  acknowledged  mental  culture  been  confined  to  mere 
imitation. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  the  prevailing  methods  of  educa- 
tion in  the  European  seats  of  learning  of  modem  times  have 
for  the  most  part  come  down  traditionally  from  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  are  only  superior  to  them  from  the  fact  of  our 
having  gone  back  once  more  to  the  original  Greek  models, 


Lecture  I. 


209 


of  which  they  had  lost  sight,  and  thus  approached  so  much 
nearer  to  the  fountainhead  of  classic  life  and  culture.  But 
the  question  is  now  fairly  opened,  how  far  the  higher  educa- 
tion of  the  future  is  to  be  bound  by  the  laws  and  usages  of 
classic  tradition.  There  are  many  other  means  and  appli- 
ances which  are  now  beginning  to  enter  into  competition 
with  the  older  methods.  Science,  which  was  a  mere  blank 
in  the  ancient  world,  has  become  one  of  the  great  charac- 
teristic features  of  our  modern  intellectual  life,  and  offers 
a  means  of  mental  cultivation  which  was  before  almost 
entirely  unknown  or  ignored ;  while  in  the  department  of 
literature  proper  our  native  Teutonic  genius  is  beginning  to 
challenge  for  itself  a  place  side  by  side  with  the  productions 
of  Greece  and  Rome.  The  battle  of  these  various  educa- 
tional agencies  is  one  which  has  yet  to  be  fought,  and  which 
will  assuredly  be  fought  upon  the  field  of  modern  culture. 
It  is  of  some  importance,  therefore,  for  us  to  find  out  how 
far  the  results  of  mental  philosophy  may  assist  us  in  the 
educational  controversies  of  the  future.  It  can  hardly  fail 
(so  far  as  it  is  a  philosophy  at  all)  to  have  some  bearing  upon 
them,  and  if  I  can  succeed,  in  this  and  the  following  lec- 
tures, in  pointing  out  the  way  in  which  psychology  can  enter 
in  any  way  into  the  contest,  and  throw  light  upon  the  great 
questions  involved  in  them,  the  few  hints  I  am  enabled  to 
offer  in  this  direction  will  not,  perhaps,  have  been  thrown 
out  before  you  wholly  in  vain. 


LECTURE    II. 


IN  my  last  lecture  I  brought  forward  various  psychological 
doctrines  which  seemed  to  me  to  have  an  important 
bearing  upon  the  methods  and  processes  of  education.  In  the 
present  lecture  I  wish  to  proceed  somewhat  more  systemati- 
cally, and  to  take  a  kind  of  rough  inventory  of  the  human 
faculties,  noting  as  we  go  on  what  are  the  means  and  appli- 
ances actually  and  habitually  employed  for  their  cultivation 
and  development.  In  doing  so,  we  may  have  occasion  to 
criticise  these  appliances  as  well  as  explain  them,  to  show 
how  far  the  methods  employed  are  well  grounded,  and  here 
and  there  to  hint  at  improvements. 

Without,  then,  going  into  any  discussion  on  the  matter, 
I  may,  first  of  all,  observe  that  there  are  three  great  classes 
of  mental  facts  generally  admitted  amongst  almost  all  psycho- 
logical writers,  and  usually  termed  mental  faculties, — these 
are  the  intellect,  the  will,  and  the  emotions.  I  need  hardly 
remind  you,  after  what  has  been  already  explained,  that 
these  are  not  to  be  regarded  as  separate  and  independent 
faculties.  The  mind — the  whole  mind — is  really  in  them 
all.  They  merely  indicate  certain  predominant  forms  of 
mental  action,  which  at  one  time  or  another  come  into  play 
with  especial  emphasis,  but  which  by  no  means  exclude  each 
other.  So  far  from  that,  we  could  exercise  no  will,  properly 
so  called,  without  intelligence,  no  intelligence  (at  any  rate, 
of  a  higher  kind)  without  volition,  while  the  emotions  in 
their  turn  involve  an  intelligible  object  and  an  effort  of  the 
will  to  attain  it. 

Now,  the  purport  of  a  complete  education  must  be  to 
act  beneficially  upon  each  and  all  of  these  three  modes  of 


LecttLve  II, 


211 


I' 


mental  manifestation — that  is,  to  develope  the  intellect,  to 
give  power  and  control  to  the  will,  and  properly  to  train  and 
discipline  the  emotions.  Whether  these  three  objects  have 
been  duly  attained  or  not,  just  makes  the  diflference  between 
an  educated  and  an  uneducated  mind. 

We  begin,  then,  with  the  development  of  the  intellect. 

The  general  direction  in  which  the  human  intellect  de- 
velopes  is  by  no  means  difficult  to  trace.  It  deals  first  with 
the  external  world,  i,e.  it  is  employed  for  a  time  almost 
exclusively  in  observing  and  mastering  the  phenomena  of 
the  senses ;  from  this  it  proceeds  to  the  formation  of  ideas, 
and  to  the  storing  up  of  a  vast  variety  of  mental  images, 
drawn  from  every  possible  quarter.  After  a  fund  of  ideas 
has  thus  been  constructed,  then  succeed  what  may  be  termed 
more  strictly  the  logical  processes,  abstraction,  judgment,  and 
reasoning.  All  this  leads,  at  length,  to  the  exercise  of  the 
higher  reason,  i.e.  to  those  combinations  which  enable  us 
to  construct  knowledge  and  grasp  truth  on  a  large  scale. 
We  shall  follow  the  development  of  the  intellect,  therefore, 
through  these  four  ascending  phases  : — (i)  Perceptions,  (2) 
Ideas,  (3)  Logical  Processes,  and  (4)  Reason  in  the  higher 
sense  of  that  term. 

I.    PERCEPTIONS. 

We  begin,  then,  with  the  sphere  of  our  perceptive  life. 
And  here  we  must  notice  in  the  outset,  that  nature  herself 
provides  for  the  culture  of  the  senses  and  perceptions  by 
means  of  the  environment  in  which  every  one  is  necessarily 
placed.  We  learn  the  use  of  the  senses  instinctively.  The 
power  of  perception,  as  we  saw  in  our  last  lecture,  has 
indeed  to  be  acquired  by  the  accumulation  of  experiences  ; 
but  the  material  of  those  experiences  Hes  so  largely  around 
us  that  every  one  acquires  this  power  of  necessity,  so  far  as 
his  own  circumstances  and  environment  admit.  The  savage, 
e.g.,  who  lives  wholly  amongst  his  native  forests,  naturally 
learns  to  perceive  most  acutely.  His  senses  are  trained  by 
the  life  he  leads  to  supply  the  especial  knowledge  which 
that  life  requires.  But  in  civilised  life  we  want  our  per- 
ceptions trained  quite  differently.  We  do  not  require  to 
track  our  way  through  immense  forests,  to  find  our  paths 


2 1 2  Philosophical  Fragments. 

and  directions  from  minute  indications,  to  observe  the 
traces  of  our  prey  where  ordinary  eyeswoulYe-r  sunn.se 
them.  All  this  is  necessary  ^o  savage  hfe  and  "^ture  trains 
the  senses  accordingly.     But  m  cmhsed  life  we  have  ik, 

use  for  this  kind  of  perceptive  P"  J" j.  ^'''^'^  V°."  *i  °"Iv  Je 
we  need  to  perceive  a  thousand  things  which  the  savage 
does  not  learn  to  see  at  all.  The  eyes,  the  ears,  the  organs 
of  smell,  of  taste,  of  touch-all  have  to  accommodate  thern- 
selves  o  the  objects  and  the  multifarious  uses  of  our  daily 
We  Our  practical  activity,  our  health,  our  use  ulness  our 
adaotiveness  to  all  the  ordinary  wants  and  duties  of  life, 
depend  in  great  measure  upon  the  proper  use  of  the  senses 
Imaaine  any  one  of  these  senses  taken  away,  or  observe  the 
dScies^of  those  in  whom  any  one  of  them  ^s  wanting 
and  we  soon  become  conscious  of  the  large  part  which  each 
of  them   plays   in  the   present   civilised   state  of  human 

^"irtherefore,  so  much  of  our  knowledge  and  usefulness 
depends  on  a  right  use  of  the  senses  it  follows  almost  se  - 
evidently  that  our  perceptions  should  be  trained  and    du- 
cated  so  as  to  render  them  as  largely  available  as  possible. 
Namre  only  trains  them  within  the  sphere  of  each  person  s 
own  immediate  experience;  but  education  can  combine  he 
exoerSnces  of  a  hundred   individuals,  and  thus  tram  the 
re^cpt^ve  powers  to  a  much  larger  scope  of  activity  than 
any  one  could  naturally  acquire  for  himself.     Half  the  pro- 
ductions of  the  globe  can  be  concentrated  within  the  school- 
room ether  in  reality  or  by  pictorial  representations  ;  and 
with  the  e,  the  perceptions  can  enjoy  an  elementary  train- 
Tng  in  the  hand  of  a  good  and  a  graphic  teacher  which 
mlv  prove  of  inestimable  value  in  after  life. 

But  how  is  this  primary  perceptive  teaching  to  be  begun  ? 
how  to  be  carried  on?  The  true  method  by  which  per- 
ceptive teaching  should  be  regulated  is  shown,  I  think,  in 
the  natural  activity  of  childhood.  A  very  young  child  cannot 
sit  down  on  a  bench  and  listen  with  any  profit  to  a  lesson 
His  knowledge  of  words  and  his  powers  of  attention  are  not 
SciS  matured  to  admit  of  his  doing  so  either  with 
plasure  or  profit.  He  wants  rather  to  be  in  motion  to  be 
uying  his  nascent  powers  upon  all  the  objects  with  which 


Lecture  IL 


213 


he  is  surrounded;  he  learns  by  effort  and  experinient,  not  by 
explanation,  and  loves  to  be  in  perpetual  conflict  with  the 
forces  which  nature  opposes  to  his  own.  This  is  the 
method  which  nature  herself  points  out.  The  young  .un- 
tutored Indian  finds  the  use  of  his  perceptive  powers  by 
using  them;  the  child  of  civiHsation  must  begin  in  the  same 

way. 

This  is  the  idea  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  system 
of  infant  instruction  originated  and  developed  by  Froebel, 
and  usually  known  in  this  country  under  the  appellation  of 
the  Kindergarten.  The  child  receives  a  gift  before  he  is 
out  of  the  nurse's  arms,  on  which  his  first  physical  powers 
are  exercised ;  when  a  little  older  he  receives  a  second  gift, 
which  calls  out  a  somewhat  higher  degree  of  activity.  Each 
succeeding  gift  is  adapted  to  cultivate  the  powers  of  per- 
ception, by  giving  the  scholar  something  more  to  do,  to 
construct,  to  arrange,  thus  affording  systematic  exercise  in 
the  judgment  of  form,  of  colour,  of  order,— such  judgment 
being  requisite  in  the  very  performance  of  the  required 
actions.  There  is  no  doubt  a  correct  psychological  prin- 
ciple lying  at  the  base  of  this  whole  system.  The  only 
thing  to  be  carefully  observed  is  the  time  at  which  the 
habit  of  learning  by  activity  should  cease,  and  severer 
habits  of  mental  attention  be  assumed.  As  a  preliminary 
training  for  the  perceptive  powers,  however,  nothing  I  con- 
ceive can  be  better  adapted  to  call  them  forth  into  wholesome 

exercise. 

As  the  powers  of  perception  become  more  advanced, 
they  must  naturally  assume  a  more  intellectual  phase,  and 
require  a  more  intellectual  method  of  development.  Then 
comes  in  the  use  of  what  are  generally  termed  object  lessons, 
the  purpose  of  which  is  to  train  the  scholar,  through  the  use 
of  the  senses,  to  the  proper  comprehension  of  all  the  quali- 
ties of  real  objects  in  nature,  to  understand  their  combina- 
tions and  appreciate  their  value  in  human  life.  By  bringing 
together  the  most  striking  productions  of  the  natural  world, 
by  placing  them  in  contact  with  the  organs  of  sense,  by 
accompanying  such  experiences  with  explanations  of  their 
utility,  a  large  amount  of  useful  knowledge  can  be  con- 
veyed, and  the  perceptive  powers  trained  to  get  still  more 


Hh 


214 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Lecture  II. 


215 


knowledge  for  themselves.  The  danger  here  to  be  avoided 
is  that  of  running  into  perpetual  repetition  and  tautology. 
Objects  are  far  more  numerous  than  the  qualities  which 
they  represent,  and  the  whole  list  of  such  qualities  becomes 
familiar  to  the  scholar  before  a  tenth  part  of  the  objects 
presented  to  his  notice  is  exhausted.  The  object  lesson  is 
then  apt  to  become  tautological,  trite,  and  consequently 
dull  and  useless.  The  teacher  should  know  instinctively 
when  this  point  has  arrived,  and  then  proceed  at  once  to 
a  higher  and  more  advanced  form  of  perceptive  instruction. 
Many  teachers,  instead  of  this,  try  to  keep  up  the  interest 
of  the  scholars  by  putting  their  questions  in  the  form  of 
enigmas,  and  keeping  them  alive  by  the  effort  to  guess  them. 
As  soon  as  any  artificial  stimulus  of  this  kind  is  necessary, 
the  object  lesson  should  be  dropped. 

I  do  not  mean,  that  perceptive  teaching  can  be  so  soon 
abandoned  altogether,— far  from  it.  Teaching  by  words 
long  requires  to  be  refreshed  and  enlivened  by  perceptive 
illustrations.  For  words,  be  it  observed,  are  but  the  signs 
of  ideas,  and  not  ideas  themselves.  For  a  word  to  have 
any  real  meaning  and  force,  there  must  be  a  corresponding 
group  of  mental  residua  which  the  sign,  when  used,  has 
the  power  to  awaken.  Where  such  residua  have  not  been 
accumulated  by  means  of  actual  perceptions,  the  force  and 
meaning  of  words  is  apt  to  be  feeble  and  indistinct.  Every 
child  will  have  a  perfectly  clear  idea  attached  to  familiar 
words,  such  as  horse,  rose,  garden  ;  but  take  words  which 
signify  objects  he  has  heard  of  but  never  seen,  such  as  a 
lion,  a  palm  tree,  or  a  glacier,  and  the  images  awakened  will 
be  very  different  in  different  minds,  and  in  all  more  or  less 
indefinite.  Bring  these  ideas  or  images,  however,  to  the 
test  oi  actual  perception y  let  the  scholar  see  a  real  lion,  or  a 
real  palm  tree,  or  a  real  glacier,  and  those  mental  images 
will  be  at  once  corrected,  sharpened,  and  refreshed,  and  the 
teaching  which  is  based  upon  them  will  be  proportionally 
effective  and  permanent  in  its  results. 

All  teaching,  therefore,  except  in  the  case  of  purely 
abstract  subjects,  may  be  more  or  less  enlivened  by  having 
recourse  to  perceptive  illustrations.  Even  in  subjects  as 
remote  from  the  senses  as  arithmetic  and  geometry,  such 


illustrations  are  by  no  means  useless  ;  for  many  a  mind  that 
has  a  difficulty  in  grasping,  say,  the  nature  of  a  fraction,  or 
the  truth  of  a  simple  proposition  in  Euclid  from  the  abstract 
statement  of  it,  may  be  helped  to  its  fuller  comprehension 
by  means  of  those  perceptive  illustrations  which  have  been 
invented  by  some  ingenious  teachers  for  the  purpose.  The 
intuitions  of  number  and  space  are  naturally  much  stronger 
in  some  minds  than  in  others,  and  where  they  are  weak, 
they  must  be  aided  by  educational  machinery  such  as  that 

just  alluded  to. 

And  if  perceptive  illustrations  can  be  turned  to  account 
in  such  subjects  as  arithmetic  and  geometry,  much  more 
will  this  be  the  case  in  teaching  things  of  a  less  abstract 
nature,  such  as  geography  and  history.     Every  one  must 
have  felt,  more  or  less,  how  little  effect  it  has  upon  the 
mind  to  store  it  with  a  catalogue  of  names,  places,  dates,  and 
events.     Take  a  young  intelligent  scholar  on  a  journey  from 
England  to  France,  Switzerland,  Italy,  and  back  by  Vienna, 
the  Danube,  and  the  Rhine ;  then  open  his  geography  of 
Europe,  and  unroll  the  maps  of  each  country.    How  different 
does  every  name  on  the  book  and  every  feature  marked  on 
the  map  now  appear  to  him!     The  ideas  he  had  before 
formed  have  all  been  corrected  and  refreshed  by  the  actual 
perception  of  the  things  they  were  intended  to  represent, 
and  the  subsequent  teaching  based  upon  them  will  have 
tenfold  the  force  and  interest  it  had  before.     Now,  as  it  is, 
of  course,  impossible  to  teach  geography  by  taking  our  pupils 
all  over  the  world,  the  next  best  thing  to  be  done  is  to  bnng 
the  world,  by  means  of  pictorial  and  other  concrete  illustra- 
tions, as  near  as  possible  to  them.     The  mountains,  rivers 
and  coasts  they  do  see  may  be  the  starting-points  from  which 
the  teacher  may  make  all  other  mountains,  rivers,  and  coasts 
graphic  and  intelligible  to  them.     He  will  be  also  aided  m 
doing  so  very  greatly  by  good  pictorial  representations  and 
clearly-defined  maps,  more  especially  those  more  modem 
ones  in  which  the  elevation  of  the  countries  is  made  almost 

visible  to  the  eye.  .  j  .  -i  j 

But  I  need  not  take  up  your  time  by  any  detailed  ex- 
planations of  the  value  of  perceptive  illustrations.  Every 
practical  teacher  is  already  well  acquainted  with  the  subject, 


P 


P 


ill  i 


-T  '^;«^W«'^i"iWBr»^-'gB»iijgr-^l^i^|gCTg^^*^^ 


^11 


2 1 6  Philosoph  ical  Fragments, 

and  has  applied  it  in  a  hundred  different  ways;  all  I  want 
to  show  you  at  present  is,  that  the  principle  on  which  per- 
ceptive teaching  is  based  is  psychologically  both  a  true  and 
an  important  one.     The  principle,  briefly  stated,  is  this, 
that  words  only  become  forcible  and  permanently  instructive 
to  us  in  proportion  as  they  are  based  upon  corresponding 
mental  experiences,  and  can,  when  employed,  awaken  residua 
already  laid  up  in  the  mind.     Where  such  residua  do  not 
already  exist,  they  must  be  created ;   and  where  they  are 
feeble  or  indefinite,  they  must  be  sharpened  and  refreshed 
by  an  appeal  to  the  senses,  or  by  teaching  of  a  giaphic 
and,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  of  a  pictorial  character. 
Moreover,  half  the   ordinary   occupations   of  human   lite 
require  the  eye,  the  ear,  or  some  of  the  other  senses  to  be 
trained,  so  as  to  awaken  and  develope  the  fundamental 
instincts  of  correct  form  and  colour,  and  the  correct  com- 
binations of  both  in  the  production  of  artistic  harmony  and 
due  proportion.     The  proper  appreciation  of  these  thmgs 
by  the  senses  has  a  closer  relation  to  the  progress  of  civilised 
life  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine.     For  harmony  in  our  per- 
ceptions has  a  close  relation  to  order  and  harmony  in  our 
ideas,  and  the  sense  of  beauty  awakened  even  m  the  lower 
spheres  of  mental  action  will  spread  its  influence  upwards, 
till  it  influences  and  educates  our  whole  moral  and  intel- 
lectual nature.     Hence,  too,  the   value  of  educating  the 
public  mind  by  giving  free  access  to  objects  of  natural  and 
fistic  beauty.     The  mere  habit  of  observing  the  difference 
between  what  is  really  artistic  and  refined,  and  what  is 
tasteless  and  vulgar,  is  an  action  which  sinks  deeper  into 
the  soul  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine ;  and  judgment,  once 
called  forth  by  manifestations  of  beauty  in  form,  and  colour, 
and  expression,  will  soon  impart  its  influence  to  all  the 
other  spheres  of  human  life.  ^     v  u 

There  is  one  question,  both  curious  and  important,  whicn 
naturally  arises  here,  and  that  is  the  relation  which  language 
holds  to  the  mental  development  of  the  child  in  the  early 
perceptive  stage  of  his  existence.  No  one  can  have  observed 
attentively  the  phenomena  of  childhood  without  seeing  how 
ready  and  intense  is  the  capacity  it  possesses  of  appropriating 
words  and  gaining  the  instinctive  use  of  language  to  express 


Lecture  IL 


217 


f 


its  ideas.     Words,  in  fact,  regarded  as  spontaneous  signs, 
form  the  great  instrument  of  the  child's  early  mental  develop- 
ment.    Without  them  its  incipient  ideas  could  not  be  fixed, 
could  not  be  retained,  could  not  be  reproduced.     Sensations 
flow  in  upon  the  young  mind  with  an  infinite  multiplicity  of 
effects.     It  is  only  when  effects  of  a  similar  kind  blend 
together  and  are  fixed  by  a  term  that  a  clear  idea  can  be 
produced.     A  hundred  red  objects,  for  instance,  may  have 
been  seen,  but  it  is  only  when  this  one  quaUty  is  denoted 
by  a  word  or  sign  that  the  quality  red  can  be  separated 
from  all  the  different  subjects  to  which  it  belongs,  and  con- 
templated as  a  quality  by  itself.     A  hundred  plants  of  all 
sizes,  shapes,  and  colours  may  have  been  seen  blossoming  in 
the  fields,  but  it  is  only  when  the  word  ^flower''  has  been 
grasped,   and    its    meaning    appropriated,    that    all    these 
natural  phenomena  can  be  comprehended  intelligently  in 
one  generalized  idea.     Words  are  not  merely  the  signs  of 
things,   they  are  also  the   instruments   by  which   all   our 
general  and  abstract  ideas  are  framed.     Hence  language  is 
the  exact  reflex  of  our  ideas,  and  is  instinctively  learned  and 
aptly  employed  by  the  child  exactly  in  proportion  as  its 
ideas  enlarge   and   develope.     Each   language,  moreover, 
possesses  a  character  of  its  own,  which  is  the  product  of 
the  national  life,  and  perfectly  answers  to  the  peculiar  hue 
of  thought  and  feeling  which  that  national  life  has  developed. 
Every  child,  accordingly,  in  appropriating  by   instinct  its 
mother  tongue,  enters  into  its  own  national  inheritance  of 
sentiment  and  idea ;  and  the  more  perfectly  that  tongue  is 
acquired,  by  imitation  and  example,  the  more  thoroughly  is 
the  mind  imbued  with  it.     It  is  of  great  importance  that 
nothing  should  interfere  with  this  natural  process  of  mental 
development  in  early  life.     Such  interference  may  arise  in 
two   ways,  either   by  the   scantiness   and   poverty  of  the 
language  which  is  presented  to  the  child's  perception,  or  by 
the  mixing  up  of  foreign  elements  which  have  never  sprung 
out  of  the  national  life  and  have  no  aflftnity  with  it.     The 
first  of  these  instances  occurs  in  the  case  of  the  children  of 
the   ignorant   and   uneducated   classes,   whose   words   are 
confined  to  an  extremely  small  vocabulary,  and  that  often 
ill  used  and  misapplied.    The  second  of  these  instances  is 


2l8 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


produced  by  the  noxious  habit  we  often  see  of  putting 
infants  under  foreign  nurses,  and  teaching  them  to  babble 
scraps  of  French  or  German  or  what  not  before  they  have 
yet  acquired  the  use  of  their  mother  tongue.  If  it  be  true 
that  words  are  the  machinery  for  mental  development,  and 
that  every  language  has  a  type  and  character  of  its  own, 
then  it  can  hardly  be  otherwise,  but  that  a  mixed  and  hybrid 
type  of  speech  impressed  upon  the  mind  in  its  first  nascent 
stage  of  intelligence  should  produce  a  blurred  and  indistinct 
impression.  The  perfect,  unmixed,  unadulterated  use  of 
one  distinct  language  involving  one  clear  national  type  of 
sentiment  and  idea,  is  of  the  highest  importance ;  it  aids 
clearness  of  conception,  originality  of  thought,  and  sharpness 
of  expression.  Bilingual  people  scarcely  ever  give  rise  to 
anything  like  a  national  literature;  and  those  who,  like 
the  Russians  of  the  higher  class,  accustom  their  children  to 
speak  with  foreign  governesses  and  tutors  from  the  cradle, 
are  simply  quenching  from  the  earliest  childhood  every 
chance  of  national  and  original  genius.  No  literary  produc- 
tion of  any  value  ever  has,  or  probably  ever  will  spring 
out  of  a  race  thus  educated ;  and  if  any  original  litergiture 
do  arise  in  the  country,  it  will  certainly  spring,  as  it  has 
to  some  extent  done  already,  from  the  lower  ranks  of  life, 
where  the  mother  tongue  has  been  the  sole  organ  of  speech 
and  the  sole  medium  of  mental  development  in  early  child- 
hood. 

Perceptive  instruction,  moulded  instinctively  into  ideas  by 
the  use  of  one  distinct  language,  is  the  only  proper  mode 
of  early  training.  When  the  mother  tongue  is  fully  acquired 
and  its  use  completely  appropriated,  then  the  study  of  another 
language  can  be  properly  introduced,  and  profitably  used  as 
a  basis  of  grammatical  and  linguistic  instruction. 

II.    IDEAS. 

So  much,  then,  for  the  primary  form  of  intelligence  which 
is  represented  by  the  phenomena  of  perception.  We  come 
next  to  the  region  of  ideas.  By  ideas  I  intend  to  express 
those  permanent,  abiding,  inward  images  which  the  mind 
constructs  by  its  own  natural  activity,  chiefly  out  of  the 
material  presented  to  it  by  the  senses.    I  need  not  enter  at 


hi 


Lecture  IL 


219 


present  into  the  mode  of  their  construction.  This  was 
sufliciently  explained  in  our  last  lecture,  when  treating  of 
the  blending  of  residua.  Suffice  it  now  to  remind  you,  that 
similar  experiences  coalesce  or  blend  together^  and  so  give 
rise  to  what  we  may  term  generalized  perceptions.  Thus  the 
idea  we  form  of  a  mountain,  a  river,  or  any  other  object  is 
developed  out  of  the  whole  blended  mass  of  experiences 
which  we  have  gained  from  time  to  time  of  the  object  in 
question,  the  mind  seizing  upon  the  most  prominent  features 
and  shaping  the  form  which  the  idea  assumes  by  its  own 
free  activity. 

The  great  primary  difference  between  an  educated  and 
an  uneducated  man  consists  in  the  number,  the  variety, 
and  clearness  of  their  respective  ideas.  Nature,  of  course, 
provides  for  the  development  of  ideas  in  the  case  of  every 
individual  within  the  range  of  his  own  immediate  experience; 
but  if  left  simply  to  nature,  the  range  of  our  experience  is 
small,  and  the  mind's  activity  in  seizing  on  the  elements 
presented  in  experience  is  rude,  imperfect,  and  ill-directed. 
Here,  as  in  so  many  other  things,  nature  requires  to  be 
aided  by  education.  Let  us  then  attempt  briefly  to  point 
out  in  what  directions  education  may  be  made  available  in 
enlarging  and  enriching  the  whole  sphere  of  our  ideas.  There 
are  two  main  directions  observable  in  the  development  of 
our  ideas,  termed,  in  popular  language,  the  understanding 
and  the  imagination.  To  explain  what  is  meant  by  this 
twofold  tendency, 

Observe,  first,  that  to  understand  a  thing  means  to  be 
able  to  assign  it  its  proper  place  and  connection  in  some 
system  of  ideas.  We  may  gaze  on  an  individual  object 
and  admire  it;  but  until  we  can  determine  what  it  is^ — 
that  is  to  say,  until  we  know  its  position  in  nature,  to  what 
genus  or  order  it  belongs,  and  to  what  other  things  it  is 
related, — we  do  not  understand  it.  So  soon  as  we  can  com- 
bine it  in  one  mental  representation  with  other  things  of 
like  kind,  viewing  it  as  an  individual  contained  under  a 
general  term,  then,  and  only  then,  the  understanding  is 
satisfied.  This  process  of  understanding  proceeds  systema- 
tically from  the  less  to  the  more  general.  The  mind  begins 
by  combining  a  few  simple  individuals  together  which  have 


_3t>CtJaJK^ai.-^^ 


2  20 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


i^ecture  II, 


221 


some  common  points  of  similarity  (it  may  be  different  kinds 
to  animals  or  plants),  and  having  observed  their  connection 
in  nature,  it  soon  combines  them  under  a  common  repre- 
sentation and  stamps  them  with  a  name     Thus  language 
itself  is   the   product   of  the   understandmg,  involving   a 
natural  classification  of  our  ideas,  corresponding  strictly 
with  the  words  we  employ  to  designate  them.      As  tne 
mind  grows  more  mature,  and  its  experiences  enlarge    it 
enters  into  wider  and  more  general  combinations      A  dog 
would  at  first  be  connected  only  with  other  dogs,  and  placed 
mentally  in  a  group  of  experiences  which  extend  only  to 
The  different  kinds  of  dogs  which  might  be  brought  under 
our  observation.     Soon,  however,  the  properties  of  the  dog 
would  be  compared  with  those  of  other  animals,  and  a 
wider  connection  established,  such  as  we  indicate  by  the 
term  quadruped.     The  properties  of  the  quadruped,  again, 
would  be  further  compared  with  those  of  the  animal  kmg- 
dom  generally  ;  these,  again,  with  other  kmgdoms  of  nature, 
until  you  arrive,  at  length,  at  the  highest  possible  generaliza- 
tion     Thus  the  main  work  of  the  intellectual  faculties  is 
to  find  out  natural  connections   between  phenomena,  to 
establish  classifications,  to  go  on  ever  widening  the  range 
of  vision,  including  objects  the  most  distant,  apparently, 
from  each  other,  and  at  first  the  most  unlike,  under  some 
general   representation,   and  reducing   phenomena   of  the 
greatest  variety  under  some  general  law  of  nature.      Ihis 
whole  form  of  mental  activity,  we  designate  by  the  word 

understanding.  .      r  .t,^  fi^^f 

Now  it  will  be  readily  seen  that  education  is  of  the  hrst 
importance  in  assisting  the  special  work  of  the  understand- 
ing —that  is,  enabling  us  to  comprehend  the  various  classi- 
fications on  which  our  knowledge  of  things  almost  entirely 
depends.     Take  any  subject  which  lies  nearest  at  hand  for 
an  illustration.     We  learn  very  early  the  use  of  language  by 
a  natural  instinct  of  imitation  ;  but  we  do  not  learn  to  com- 
prehend the  nature  and  functions  of  words  by  instinct  or 
imitation.     This  is  a  matter  which  has  to  be  taught ;  and  it 
is  only  by  an  intelligent  instruction  in  grammar  that  the 
proper  classification  of  words  can  be  grasped,  the  uses  of 
them  clearly  understood,  and  the  mind  trained  to  that  early 


habit  of  clear  thinking  which  can  only  result  from  the  early 
habit  of  clear  expression. 

Or  take  as  an  illustration  the  subject  of  natural  history 
generally.  The  world  of  vegetation  lies  about  us  on  every 
side.  We  see  its  beauty  and  variety,  we  admire  its  adapta- 
tion to  our  use  and  enjoyment,  but  how  little  do  we  com- 
prehend of  it  simply  by  the  light  of  instinct !  The  human 
understanding  has  long  been  employed  in  tracing  connec- 
tions, in  classifying  functions,  in  dividing  and  parcelling  out 
the  whole  sphere  of  vegetable  life  into  genera  and  species. 
The  value  of  education  here  is  to  bring  together  the  aggre- 
gate results  of  past  labour,  and  lay  them  clearly  before  the 
mind  of  the  pupil.  In  this  way  the  understanding  arrives 
by  a  short  road  at  classifications  which  the  lifetime  of  no 
individual  would  suffice  to  work  out. 

The  lesson  to  be  learned  by  the  educator  from  the  whole 
of  this  analysis  is,  that  ppuring  in  isolated  facts  upon  the 
mind  of  the  scholar  can  have  very  little  effect  in  stimulating 
or  improving  the  understanding.  And  yet  what  a  vast  deal 
of  teaching  consists  simply  of  this  process  !  How  often,  for 
example,  is  it  the  case  that  the  teaching  of  geography  is 
confined  to  the  simple  work  of  storing  the  memory  with  a 
list  of  facts,  or  a  catalogue  of  names,  and  the  localizing  of 
these  facts  and  these  names  on  the  map.  It  must  be 
evident  that  the  understanding  has  very  Httle  to  do  with 
this  whole  process.  There  is  no  power  of  generalization 
called  forth,  no  combination  of  the  less  under  the  more 
general,  no  classification  which  leads  the  mind  of  the  scholar 
to  comprehend  the  world  in  which  he  lives.  And  yet,  surely, 
there  is  ample  room  for  this  in  giving  a  description  of  our 
globe  and  all  which  goes  on  upon  its  surface.  Mountains, 
rivers,  lakes,  oceans,  continents— all  result  from  great  powers 
of  nature,  which  are  operating  on  a  small  scale  around  us 
every  moment  Man,  his  occupation,  his  mode  of  life,  his 
special  industries,  his  intelligence— all  depend  to  a  large 
extent  upon  the  environment  in  the  midst  of  which  he  is 
placed,  and  by  which  his  whole  mode  of  existence  is  more 
or  less  determined.  Every  region,  every  climate,  every 
geological  feature,  has  its  special  results  upon  human  life. 
In  the  whole  range  of  geographical  teaching  there  is  ample 


! 


222 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


% 


room  for  classification  and  generalization,  ample  room  for 
transferring  its  facts  from  being  a  mere  burden  upon  the 
memory  to  the  region  of  the  understanding,  where  they 
acquire  meaning  and  force  by  virtue  of  their  connection 
with  the  whole  system  of  things  as  seen  upon  the  surface  of 
our  globe.    So  far  for  understanding. 

We  will  turn  next  to  the  other  function  of  mind  in  con- 
nection with  its  ideas,  and  that  is  the  region  of  imagination. 
In  maintaining,  as  we  have  just  now  been  doing,  that  the 
understanding,  strictly  so  termed,  can  only  be  cultivated  and 
developed  by  means  of  a  constant  habit  of  generalization, 
in  which  the  connections  of  things  are  shown  and  estab- 
lished, we  do  not  intend  to  convey  the  notion  that  the 
whole  of  our  education  within  the  region  of  ideas  must  be 
confined  sitnply  to  culture  of  the  understanding.  There  is 
another  very  important  mental  process  to  be  taken  into 
account,  that  which  is  directed  not  to  the  combination  of 
our  natural  ideas,  but  to  their  distinction  and  individualiza- 
tion. When  an  object  is  presented  to  us,  we  may  occupy 
ourselves  upon  it  in  two  ways.  Either  we  may  regard  it  in 
connection  with  the  class  or  genus  to  which  it  belongs,  or 
we  may  regard  it  in  detail,  separating  all  the  individual 
features  and  observing  the  characteristics  and  analogies  of 
each.  Thus,  in  contemplating  a  new  flower  which  has 
never  been  seen  before,  one  man  will  most  naturally  look 
at  those  peculiarities  which  determine  its  botanical  cha- 
racter ;  while  another  man  will  neglect  these  peculiarities 
altogether,  and  look  merely  at  the  outward  detail,  forming 
to  himself  a  perfect  representation  of  its  size,  shape,  colour, 
leaf,  stem,  flower,  etc.,  quite  independently  of  any  design  of 
classification,  and  be  able  afterwards  to  reproduce  all  these 
distinct  characteristics  as  the  results  of  his  observation. 
While  the  one  man  follows  the  law  of  his  understanding,  the 
other  obeys  the  impulse  of  his  imagination.  And  let  us 
not  suppose  that  this  latter  process  is  of  any  inferior  value 
in  the  whole  economy  of  our  mental  life.  Understanding 
alone  may  lead  to  a  fuller  intellectual  grasp  of  truth  ;  but 
human  life  does  not  consist  alone  in  this.  Nature  was 
made  not  merely  to  be  comprehended,  but  also  to  be  admired. 
Why  has  she  made  everything  beautiful  in  its  time  ?    Why 


I? 


4 


Lecture  II. 


223 


has  she  decked  the  earth  with  every  variety  of  form  and 
colour  ?     Why  has  she  appealed  in   a   thousand  ways  to 
every  human  sense  and  every  human  sentiment  ?     Evidently 
the  varieties  and  beauties  of  nature  are  adapted  designedly 
to  awaken   feelings,  sympathies,  emotions,  in   the  human 
soul,  which  tend  as  directly  to  its  culture  and  its  happiness 
as  does  the  direct  pursuit  of  knowledge.     Our  life,  like 
nature  herself,  was  designed  by  the  Creator  not  merely  to 
exhibit  order  and  connection,  but  to  blossom  forth  into  all 
that  infinite  variety  of  sentiment,  that  richness  and  fulness 
of  idea,  on  which  fully  the  half  of  our  culture  really  depends. 
The  force  of  education,  therefore,  should  be  directed  not 
merely  to  the  strengthening  of  the  understanding,  but  also 
to  the  development  of  the  imagination.     For  this  purpose, 
every  means  should  be  adopted  for  bringing  the  mind  early 
to  the  appreciation  of  the  sublime  and  the  beautiful,  both 
in  nature,  art,  and  human  feeling.     The  imagination  should 
be  enriched  by  descriptive  teaching,  by  artistic  representa- 
tions, and  by  bringing  it  into  contact  with  the  highest  forms  of 
style,  both  in  prose  and  poetry.     All  attempts  to  cultivate 
our  ideas  must  aim  either  at  enlarging  our  comprehension 
of  them,  or  enabling  us  to  appreciate  their  richness  and 
variety.     These  are  the  two  points  which  the  teacher  has 
ever  to  keep  in  view.     To  pour  isolated  facts  into  the  mind, 
or  crowd  the  memory  with  terms  and  phrases,  has  no  edu- 
cating element  in  it ;  it  aids  neither  the  understanding  nor 
the  imagination,  but  leaves  the  one  unsatisfied  and  the 
other  unmoved.     But  where  both  these  tendencies  are  care- 
fully cultivated,  good  results  must  assuredly  follow.     Some 
minds  will  doubtless  gravitate  (in   accordance  with   their 
natural  disposition)  to  the   side  of  comprehension,    and, 
leaving  the  paths  of  imagination,  will  form  habits  of  com- 
paring and  generalizing,  of  seeing  the  connections  of  things 
and  reasoning  from  one  observation  to  another.     They  will 
thus  go  to  swell   the   number   of  men   distinguished   for 
science,  men  learned  and  apt  in  professional  life,  men  of 
sagacity  as  merchants  or  statesmen,  men  who  gain  an  in- 
sight into  the  laws  of  nature,  of  society,  of  commerce,  of 
any  practical  branch  of  human  industry  or  human  investi- 
gation.    Other  minds,  on  the  contrary,  will  gravitate  to  the 


224 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


culture  of  the  imagination  ;  and  amongst  those  will  be 
found  poets,  artists,  litterateurs,  men  devoted  in  some  way 
to  the  culture  or  production  of  what  is  beautiful,  men  of 
sensibility,  who  have  an  eye  for  all  that  is  finest  in  natural 
scenery,  in  architecture,  in  antiquity,  in  everything  which 
either  nature  or  art  can  represent  and  portray. 

Thus  the  great  twofold  law  of  intelligence  goes  to  com- 
plete itself,  and  while  one-half  of  the  minds  which  a  human 
education  sends  forth  tend  to  combination,  and  the  other 
half  to  separation  and  detail,  the  steady  march  of  human 
progress  goes  forward  equally  impelled  by  the  influences 
exerted  both  by  the  one  and  the  other. 

III.    LOGICAL  PROCESSES. 

We  have  now  gone  through  two  out  of  the  four  ascend- 
ing phases  of  our  intellectual  life.  We  have  seen  the  value, 
from  an  educational  point  of  view,  of  the  culture  of  the 
perceptions  and  the  development  of  our  ideas.  Now  it  is 
exactly  here  that  we  must  draw  the  line  between  the  lower 
and  the  higher  education  of  our  schools.  Primary,  or  per- 
haps we  might  better  term  it,  preliminary  education,  con- 
fines itself  chiefly,  if  not  exclusively,  to  these  two  lower 
forms  of  intellectual  manifestation ;  the  higher  education 
goes  on  to  cultivate  the  two  other  more  advanced  phases  of 
the  intellectual  faculty,  those  which  we  have  designated 
respectively  by  the  name  of  the  logical  processes  and  the 
higher  reason. 

We  come  next,  therefore,  to  consider  the  methods  of 
education  as  they  relate  to  logical  processes.  And  let  me 
here  first  of  all  guard  against  the  misunderstanding  that 
there  is  diViy  fundamental  difference  between  the  lower  and 
higher  forms  of  our  intellectual  life.-  The  laws  of  intelli- 
gence are  the  same  throughout,  and  the  processes  are  the 
same.  There  is  an  instinctive,  undeveloped  logic  pervading 
all  our  perceptions,  and  the  same,  in  a  more  advanced  form, 
governing  the  formation  of  our  ideas.  When  we  come  to 
what  have  been  termed  specially  the  logical  processes,  we 
have  simply  to  do  with  a  more  explicit  use  of  the  very  same 
intellectual  processes  which  we  have  already  seen  to  be  in 
operation  from  the  beginning. 


Lecture  IL 


225 


Now  the  logical  processes,  as  you  are  well  aware,  are 
ordinarily  divided  into  three  parts — namely,  simple  appre- 
hension, judgment,  and  reasoning.  Under  the  first  part,  or 
simple  apprehension,  we  learn  the  proper  nature  and  use 
of  terms,  we  learn  to  fix  their  exact  extension  and  compre- 
hension, to  form  correct  definitions  and  divisions,  to  give 
a  precise  and  unequivocal  meaning  to  all  the  words  we 
employ.  Under  the  second  division  of  logic,  we  learn  the 
nature  and  use  of  propositions,  what  they  consist  of,  how 
the  subject,  predicate,  and  copula  are  related  to  each  other, 
how  they  can  be  transposed  and  converted,  when  they  are 
to  be  regarded  as  contrary  or  contradictory  to  each  other. 
Under  the  third  division,  or  that  of  reasoning,  we  learn  the 
use  of  the  syllogism,  and  in  learning  this,  become  conversant 
with  all  the  different  forms  in  which  a  correct  logical  argu- 
ment may  be  stated.  In  studying  logic,  both  deductive  and 
inductive,  we  do  not  learn  to  reason  (for  that  is  taught  us 
by  the  intuitive  use  of  the  intellectual  faculties),  but  we 
learn  ivhat  reasoning  is,  how  it  can  be  most  clearly  and 
explicitly  stated,  and  where  we  are  most  likely  to  detect 
fallacies.  We  do  not  require,  in  our  daily  intercourse  with 
mankind,  to  use  the  forms  and  processes  of  logic,  techni- 
cally speaking,  but  we  are  daily  engaged  more  or  less  with 
practical  argumentation  in  the  whole  business  of  life.  Our 
higher  education,  therefore,  should  be  so  conducted  as  to 
make  us  sound  practical  reasoners ;  and  not  only  this,  but 
to  enable  us  to  state  our  arguments  in  the  most  perspicuous 
and  telling  form.  There  are  two  great  branches  of  mental 
culture  which,  it  seems  to  me,  are  especially  adapted  to 
develope  logical  power,  and  these  are— (i)  The  study  of 
languages ;  and  (2)  The  pursuit  of  science,  including  that 
of  mathematics. 

Now,  with  regard  to  the  study  of  language,  let  me  first  of 
all  remark  that  all  language  is  really  based  upon  the  in- 
stinctive laws  of  logic.  Every  word  we  use  is  a  term,  which 
we  ought  to  know  how  to  employ  correctly  and  within  the 
proper  limits  of  its  real  meaning.  Every  sentence  we  utter 
is  a  proposition,  which  involves  the  right  use  of  the  subject, 
predicate,  and  copula.  Every  discourse  we  make  is  more 
or  less  a  process  of  reasoning,  which  should  keep  within  the 

P 


IT 


226 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


real  laws  of  the  syllogism,  and  avoid  the  ambiguities  and 
fallacies  which  so  often  lurk  within  our  phrases  and  state- 
ments.    The  study  of  language  is,  therefore,  the  study  of 
what  is  really  a  species  of  practical  logic ;  and  m  no  other 
way,  perhaps,  can  the  mind  be  so  strictly  and  wholesomely 
exercised  in  the  right  use  of  reason.     To  get  this  exercise, 
however,  to  bear  upon  the  mind  with  all  its  force,  it  is 
usually  considered   necessary  to   study  language   through 
some  other  medium  than  our  own.     We  are  too  familiar, 
it  is  considered,  with  the  forms  and  usages  of  our  own 
tongue  to  allow  it  to  be  a  good  instrument  of  logical  educa- 
tion.    The  mind  employs  it  instinctively,  understands  it 
instinctively,  occupies  itself  only  with  the  ideas  it  intends 
to  convey,  and  by  the  mere  force  of  habit  overlooks  the 
whole  grammatical  machinery  by  which  it  conveys  them. 
It  is  by  means  of  our  own  language  that  we  learn  to  think, 
so  that  the  thought  and  the  symbol  have  so  closely  coalesced 
in  the  mind,  so  indissolubly  blended  as  residua,  that  we 
have  great  difficulty  in  keeping  the  form  distinct  from  the 
matter.    When,  however,  we  take  up  another  language,— and 
particularly  an  ancient  language,  which  lies  farther  apart  from 
our  own  usages,  and  embodies  quite  another  world  of  idea 
different  from  our  own,— then  a  great  intellectual  problem 
naturally  lies  before  us— the  problem,  namely,  of  finding  an 
entrance  into  this  new  world  of  thought,  and  discovering  the 
mode  in  which  it  has  embodied  itself  in  an  organ  of  expres- 
sion so  widely  different  from  our  own.     Let  any  one  who 
has  mastered  the  Latin  language  sit  down  and  try  to  make 
out  the  mental  processes  he  has  gone  through  in  the  course 
of  learning  it.    He  has  had  to  learn  the  exact  use  of  number- 
less terms,  many,  nay,  mostoi  which  have  no  exact  equivalent 
in  our  own  tongue.    He  has  had  to  hedge  these  terms  around 
mentally  by  all  kinds  of  cautions,  restrictions,  and  defini- 
tions, in  order  that  their  exact  force  and  meaning  may  be 
preserved  without  diminution  or  exaggeration ;  he  has  had 
to  learn  the  various  ways  in  which  propositions  are  stated. 
For  this  purpose  he  must  study  every  sentence  closely,  must 
find  the  subject  and  all  that  belongs  to  it,  must  search, 
perhaps,  throughout  a  long  network  of  phrases  to  find  the 
predicate,  must  parcel  out,  in  due  form,  all  the  subordinate 


Lecture  II, 


227 


parts  of  the  sentence,  and  then,  after  a  long  effort,  only 
succeeds  in  getting  an  indistinct  idea  of  the  meaning  of  the 
whole,  which  meaning  would  have  burst  instinctively  upon 
the  mind  of  an  ancient  Roman  before  the  sentence  was  well 
ended.  Thus  the  modem  scholar  has  to  go  painfully  on- 
ward step  by  step,  getting  fresh  insight,  as  he  advances,  into 
the  force  of  words,  the  meaning  of  phrases,  the  structure  of 
sentences,  the  development  of  ideas ;  and  only  after  years 
of  labour  does  he  feel  that  the  Roman  mind,  which  now  lies 
buried  in  this  great  organ  of  thought  and  expression  which 
it  has  left  behind,  can  be  called  forth  from  its  sepulchre 
and  made  to  appear  again  in  a  living  and  breathing  form. 
But  only  consider  what  powers  of  mind  must  be  applied 
before  we  can  conjure  up  this  spirit  from  the  tomb,  and 
what  an  exercise  of  all  the  logical  powers  it  must  have  in- 
volved before  the  dead  letter  can  become  once  more  instinct 
with  life,  and  the  stereotyped  forms  of  language  can  be 
made  to  speak  to  us  once  more  the  living  tones  of  a  world 
long  passed  away ! 

We  have  placed  this  side  of  the  question  purposely  in  a 
strong  point  of  view,  and  were  we  to  add  the  special  advan- 
tages accruing  from  the  study  of  the  Greek  language  and 
literature,  the  case  would  become  tenfold  stronger.  But 
there  is  another  side  of  the  question  which  must  be  taken 
into  account,  and  which  will  considerably  modify  our  views 
as  to  the  desirableness  of  making  Latin  and  Greek  the  basis 
of  linguistic  and  logical  culture  in  all  ordinary  cases. 

First,  then,  let  it  be  noted  that,  to  get  the  benefit  of  Latin 
and  Greek  as  instruments  of  culture,  there  is  need  of  long, 
patient,  continued,  and  unwearied  study,  extending  through 
several  of  the  best  years  of  a  man's  life.  A  smattering  of 
Latin  and  Greek,  I  hold,  is  of  very  little  service  in  aiding 
our  mental  development.  It  partakes  of  the  defects  of  all 
half  studies,  leading  the  mind  to  skim  over  the  surface  of 
things,  and  giving  a  show,  and  perhaps  a  flattering  belief,  of 
superior  depth  of  culture,  when,  really  speaking,  it  repre- 
sents very  little  culture  at  all. 

Secondly,  let  it  be  noted  that,  as  Latin  and  Greek  have 
been  traditionally  recognised  as  the  essential  instruments  of 
education,  and  long  employed  as  such,  the  value  of  modem 


228 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


Lecture  II, 


229 


i 


languages  as  a  basis  of  mental  training  has  never  yet  had 
a  fair  chance  of  evincing  itself.     It  is  only  of  late  years,  for 
example,  that  English  grammar  has  begun  to  be  seriously 
employed  as  a  means  of  logical  trammg;  and  yet  the  value 
of  it  is  already  recognised  in  a  large  majority  of  our  schools, 
whether  classical  or  otherwise.    Then  with  regard  to  French, 
a  language  of  the  most  refined  and  highly-developed  order, 
it  has  always  held  quite  a  subordinate  place  in  English 
education.     French  masters  and  governesses,  mostly  of  a 
very  inferior  description  in  an  educational  point  of  view, 
arfe  employed  to  teach  English  scholars  to  read  an  ordinary 
French  book  and  join  in  an  ordinary  French  conversation ; 
but  as  to  the  employment  of  all  the  refinements  of  French 
grammar  and  literature  to  train  the  mind  (in  the  same  way 
as  Latin  and  Greek  have  been  employed  for  that  purpose), 
this  is  an  idea  almost,  if  not  entirely,  unknown  in  our  country. 
Within  the  last  twenty  years  the  study  of  German  has  also 
come  into  vogue  in  most  of  our  higher  schools,  but  here, 
again,  only  in  the  same  way  as  French  was  taught  before  it. 
And  yet,  what  an  instrument  of  culture  does  the  German 
language  and  the  German  literature  present,  if  only  rightly 
used  and  properly  applied !     In  fulness  of  its  vocabulary, 
in  its  power  of  composition,  in  the  complicated  structure  of 
its  sentences,  rivalling  in  synthetic  force  the  grammatical 
forms  of  Latin  and  Greek,  in  the  richness  of  its  literature 
and  the  variety  of  its  style,  one  can  hardly  imagine  a  more 
potent  engine  of  mental  education,  if  only  employed  with 
the  same  energy,  the  same  mastery  of  details,  the  same 
minute  study  and  analysis  of  expressions,  as  are  daily  ex- 
pended upon  the  classical  languages.  ^ 

Thirdly,  let  it  be  noted  that  one-half  of  the  time  and 
labour  devoted  to  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  Latin  or 
Greek  would  amply  suffice  to  secure  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  French  or  German,  and,  consequently,  afford  a  more 
superior  linguistic  training  than  such  an  imperfect  knowledge 
of  the  classical  languages  could  possibly  convey. 

Fourthly,  let  us  also  note  the  enormous  collateral 
advantages  which  a  thorough  knowledge  either  of  French 
or  German  brings  in  its  train.  It  opens  the  door  to  a 
brilliant  modern  literature,  ever  evolving  new  forms  and  new 


productions  of  literary  activity;  it  puts  a  new  instrument 
into  our  hands  for  social  intercourse  and  profitable  travel ; 
it  gives  us  a  new  power  in  commerce,  in  art,  in  science,  in 
politics,  and  the  study  of  society  universally.  Thus  it  makes 
us,  so  far,  citizens  of  a  larger  world,  and  intelligent  members 
of  a  larger  community. 

Fifthly,  the  conclusion  is  inevitably  forced  upon  us, 
from  all  these  considerations,  that  while  to  the  professional 
scholar,  whose  business  is  with  human  learning,  and  whose 
whole  sphere  of  mental  action  demands  the  deepest  and  the 
fullest  culture,  Latin  and  Greek  are  a  necessity  indispensable 
to  his  whole  career  of  thought  and  investigation, — on  the 
contrary,  to  the  ordinary  scholar,  who  cannot  afford  to  give 
long  years  to  the  deepest  culture,  a  far  more  valuable 
education  can  be  derived  from  subjects  lying  around  us, 
and  those  living  languages  which  open  up,  in  addition  to 
a  sound  linguistic  training,  all  the  inestimable  advantages  I 
have  above  enumerated.  The  time  is  inevitably  approach- 
ing when  Latin  and  Greek  will  be  the  heritage  only  of  the 
professional  scholar,  while  the  linguistic  culture  of  the 
educated  masses  will  be  based  upon  the  close  and  accurate 
study  of  one  or  more  of  the  spoken  languages  of  the 
civilised  world. 

We  pass  on  now  to  the  other  great  branch  of  study  which 
we  referred  to  as  giving  another  educational  apparatus  for 
developing  the  logical  powers  of  the  human  mind — I  mean 
the  study  of  science.  As  language  is  the  great  instrument 
for  training  our  minds  to  deduction,  so  science  is  the  instru- 
ment for  training  them  to  the  use  of  all  the  inductive  pro- 
cesses which  are  so  important  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge. 
As  in  deduction  we  reason  down  from  general  laws  and 
principles  to  particular  and  special  conclusions,  so  in 
induction  we  proceed  from  particular  and  individual  facts 
up  to  general  laws  and  principles.  Science  is  the  great 
school  in  which  this  most  fruitful  of  all  the  processes  of 
logic  has  been  taught  and  its  value  demonstrated.  The 
ancient  philosophers,  down  to  the  time  of  Bacon,  knew 
comparatively  little  of  it.  Their  habit  of  mind  was  different ; 
they  loved  to  follow  the  high  deductive  road ;  they  attempted 
to  reason  out  their  conclusions  from  general  principles  and 


#  . 


2  30  Philosophical  Fragments. 

abstract  ideas;  they  sought  to  explain  the  universe  in 
accordance  with  some  theory,  the  foundations  of  which 
were  laid  in  their  own  mental  conceptions.  In  modem 
times,  thanks  to  the  schooling  of  physical  science,  we  have 
learned  to  proceed  by  a  humbler  but  a  surer  road.  Ihere 
is  not  a  branch  of  science  unfolded  by  the  spirit  of  modem 
research  which  does  not  teach  us  to  observe,  to  note  care- 
fully the  most  apparently  insignificant  facts,  to  register  those 
facts  in  some  definite  order,  to  suspend  our  judgments  till 
all  the  possible  facts  attainable  have  been  taken  into  account, 
and  then  slowly  to  ehminate  our  conclusions  according 
as  observation  and  experiment  have  shown  us  the  way. 

The  habit  of  mind  thus  formed  is  educationally  of  the 
highest  value  ;  for  it  is  not  in  the  pursuit  of  physical  science 
only  that  a  careful  inductive  spirit  of  inquiry  is  needful, 
but  it  tells  equally  upon  the  business  of  human  hfe.  The 
practical  judgments  we  are  required  to  form  daily  in  the 
affairs  of  human  life,  are  more  commonly  than  not  of  an 
inductive  character.  An  ill-trained  mind  is  usually  hasty 
in  its  judgments;  it  collects  a  few  of  the  most  palpable 
facts  which  tell  upon  the  case  which  may  be  under  con- 
sideration, and  hurries  at  once  to  the  result.  A  well-trained 
mind  knows  that  to  decide  from  a  partial  and  imperfect 
statement  of  facts  may  be  delusive,  and  waits  till  the 
colligation  of  them  is  completed  before  it  attempts  to  seize 
the  final  conclusion.  The  careful  inductive  spirit  of  science, 
when  once  acquired,  applies  to  every  branch  of  human  life, 
and  forms  one  great  element  in  the  results  of  a  sound  educa- 
tion of  the  logical  faculties.  ^ 

There  is  another  important  result  of  scientific  teaching, 
and  that  is  the  tacit  conviction  it  has  planted  in  human 
thought  of  the  universal  reign  of  law.  This  is  really  the 
goveming  idea  of  the  scientific  mind,  which,  though  it  may 
be  verbally  admitted  by  many  wholly  ignorant  of  science, 
yet  is  seldom  reaUzed  in  its  practical  force,  except  as  the 
result  of  scientific  training.  When  once  realized,  however, 
it  exerts  its  influence  more  or  less  over  all  our  beliefs, 
modifies  even  our  fundamental  ideas  of  morals  and  theology, 
and  becomes  a  real  power  in  the  progressive  developnjent 
of  human  society.     Thus  the  study  of  science  first  of  all 


Lecture  II, 


231 


enriches  the  mind  by  storing  it  with  a  large  accumulation 
of  facts — facts  well  assorted  and  arranged,  trains  it  next  to 
the  correct  use  of  the  logical  powers,  especially  in  the  induc- 
tive form  of  reasoning,  and  ends  with  imbuing  it  with  those 
great  universal  conceptions  which  guide  our  habits  of  thought 
and  cast  an  influence  over  the  whole  aspect  of  human  truth. 
Compare  the  attitude  of  the  human  mind  in  relation  to  the 
universe  at  large,  when  the  globe  we  inhabit  was  looked 
upon  as  the  centre  and  focus  of  creation  to  which  every- 
thing else  was  subservient,  with  the  attitude  it  must  needs 
assume  now  that  science  has  unfolded  the  magnitude  of 
nature's  realms,  and  shown  the  world  we  live  on  to  be  but 
a  speck  and  an  atom  amongst  the  vaster  works  of  the  great 
Creator,  and  we  can  hardly  fail  to  realize  the  change  which 
has  been  thus  wrought  in  all  the  higher  aspects  of  human 
tmth.  As  it  is  by  the  teaching  of  science  that  these  vaster 
realms  of  being  have  been  unfolded,  so  it  is  by  its  educating 
power  over  the  human  mind  that  we  rise  to  contemplate 
all  human  truth  under  the  new  relations  thus  established. 

Lastly,  amongst  the  instmments  for  training  the  logical 
faculties,  we  should  not  forget  to  mention  the  study  of  pure 
mathematics,  especially  geometry.  As  an  example  of  de- 
ductive reasoning — clear,  consecutive,  severely  rigid,  and 
infallibly  correct — there  is,  perhaps,  nothing  comparable  with 
the  process  of  geometric  teaching  based  on  the  elements 
of  Euclid.  Though  the  exercise  of  the  logical  powers  in 
this  particular  form  is  necessarily  limited  from  the  narrow- 
ness of  the  sphere  in  which  the  ideas  and  definitions  lie,  yet 
the  perfection  attained  in  the  whole  process  of  reasoning 
can  hardly  fail  to  exert  a  most  healthy  influence  on  the 
mind  of  the  scholar.  It  teaches  him  what  accuracy  means ; 
and  if  he  cannot  attain  to  the  same  degree  of  it  in  the 
ordinary  affairs  of  life,  yet  he  must  always  retain  a  vivid 
notion  of  what  positive  demonstration  involves,  and  estimate 
the  more  perfectly  how  nearly  it  may  or  may  not  be  ap- 
proached in  other  branches  of  inquiry. 

I  can  only,  in  the  course  of  a  single  lecture,  just  touch 
upon  these  points,  and  indicate  for  your  further  reflection 
the  line  of  thought  I  wish  to  follow.  The  effects  of  language 
and  science  upon  the  logical  powers  are  in  fact  almost 


232 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Lecture  IL 


233 


■«i 


l:l 

IP. 

•I 

ll 


infinitely  varied;  but  it  would  require  a  volume  to  draw 
them  out  in  extenso^  and  press  them  upon  your  attention. 

IV.    REASON  IN  THE  HIGHER  SENSE. 

We  must  proceed  now,  therefore,  to  the  fourth  and  highest 
phase  of  intellectual  life — that  which  we  have  termed  reason 
in  the  higher  sense.  What,  then,  do  we  mean  by  reason, 
thus  considered  ?  In  what  way  does  it  differ  from  the  forms 
and  phases  of  intelligence  already  explained?  The  best 
way  to  investigate  this  point  is  to  consider  what  would  re- 
main defective  in  the  whole  structure  of  the  human  mind 
were  it  to  possess  all  the  powers  above  enumerated,  and 
nothing  more.  There  are  many  inmates  of  our  lunatic 
asylums  who  do,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  possess  them  all,  and 
sometimes  even  to  a  very  high  degree.  They  have  clear  per- 
ceptions and  perfectly-formed  ideas;  they  have  memory,  the 
faculty  of  speech,  often  to  a  marvellous  extent ;  they  have, 
beside  this,  a  brilliant  imagination,  and  reason  logically  with 
the  greatest  acuteness  upon  any  given  data.  What  is  it, 
then,  that  is  wanting  ?  Just  this.  They  have  lost  their  reason^ 
and  therefore  can  hold  no  proper  place  in  the  ordinary  life 
and  intercourse  of  humanity.  But  what  do  we  mean  when 
we  say  that  they  have  lost  their  reason?  They  can  talk 
and  argue,  and  employ  all  sorts  of  ideas  in  a  perfectly  regular 
and  normal  way.  The  point,  I  reply,  in  which  they  fail,  is 
the  power  of  co-ordinating  all  their  intellectual  processes  so 
as  to  produce  in  the  aggregate  a  rational  result.  Thus  they 
often  mistake  sensations  for  ideas,  and  vice  versd  ;  they  form 
notions,  and  then  regard  them  as  objective  facts ;  they  con- 
fuse the  product  of  one  faculty  with  another,  and  thus  disturb 
the  fundamental  relations  of  knowledge. 

The  ordinary  use  of  the  word  reason  coincides  pretty 
closely  with  this  notion  of  it.  Thus  we  say  that  an  animal 
has  instinct^  but  not  reason.  It  can  feel,  perceive,  remember, 
and  carry  on  many  other  intellectual  processes ;  but  it  has 
no  conscious  and  voluntary  power  of  putting  together  the 
results  of  all  these  various  mental  acts,  and  calculating  from 
them  remote  conclusions.  We  speak,  again,  in  common 
life,  of  a  person  acting  according  to  reason,  being  reasonable 
in  his  ideas,  being  able  to  show  a  reason  for  what  he  does. 


There  is  one  fundamental  idea  which  runs  through  all  ex- 
pressions of  this  nature — that  is,  the  idea  of  acting  con- 
sciously upon  a  plan  which  has  been  duly  considered  and 
voluntarily  adapted  to  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  And 
this  conception  of  the  province  of  reason  again  shows  it  to 
be  the  co-ordinating  power  in  the  whole  of  our  intellectual 
processes,  as  that  which  gives  unity  and  solidarity  to  them, 
aiding  us  at  once  in  the  pursuit  of  truth,  and  in  adapting 
our  lives  to  the  whole  environment  in  which  we  are  placed. 
It  thus  realizes  the  highest  idea  of  life,  which  is  the  perfect 
adaptation  of  our  being  to  the  world  in  which  we  live. 

The  great  thing,  then,  in  which  the  exercise  of  reason 
differs  from  all  the  other  intellectual  processes,  is  its  capacity 
of  dealing  with  a  multiplicity  of  objects  and  ideas  all  at 
once.  The  primeval  savage  adapts  himself  to  his  environ- 
ment, shelters  himself  from  weather,  hunts  wild  animals, 
clothes  himself  in  their  skins,  and  leads  a  life  in  which  we 
see  the  force  of  instinct  (which  is  spontaneous  reason)  just 
struggling  out  into  the  higher  form  of  conscious  reason.  The 
age  in  which  pasture  and  agriculture  begin  to  appear,  in- 
dicates a  more  advanced  form  of  reason.  To  prepare  the 
ground,  to  sow  the  seed,  to  watch  the  young  plant  and 
gather  the  harvest,  are  processes  which  require  foresight  and 
calculation.  Here  reason  draws  every  mental  power  as  yet 
developed  into  its  service ;  it  governs  the  motives,  the 
thoughts,  the  actions  of  the  man,  and  prompts  him  to  pro- 
vide for  his  own  sustenance  and  happiness  upon  a  more 
elaborate  scale. 

As  society  increases,  new  problems  of  life  arise — those 
which  seek  to  adjust  the  relations  of  property  and  govern 
the  actions  of  men  towards  each  other.  Social  life  thus 
takes  its  start,  and  reason  gives  rise  to  the  necessary  forms 
of  law  and  government.  Then,  lastly,  we  come  to  the  age 
of  science,  where  we  see  the  human  reason  investigating 
nature,  interpreting  its  laws,  and  making  all  subservient  to 
the  wants  of  mankind.  Practical  and  applied  science  is 
simply  a  mighty  adjustment  between  the  powers  of  nature 
and  the  wants  of  man ;  it  is  reason  co-ordinating  all  our 
intellectual  powers  to  the  manifold  wants  of  civilised  life. 
In  the  same  manner  does  reason  enable  us  to  adjust  the 


4- 


11 

[4 


234  Philosophical  Fragments. 

relations  of  the  human  soul  to  the  universe  at  large,  to  the 
higher  life  of  morality  and  religion.  Thus  m  the  exercise 
of  reason  we  hold  many  threads  in  our  hand,  bnng  them  all 
to  bear  upon  one  centre,  and  educe  one  general  result;  and 
the  remoteness  of  the  means  employed  towards  securmg 
this  end  is  the  measure  of  the  power  of  reason,  which  grasps 
and  applies  them.  From  the  explanation  now  given,  it  will 
be  at  once  understood  why  reason  is  justly  called  the  truth 
organ  of  the  human  soul.  What  is  truth  but  a  just  apprecia- 
tion of  the  relations  of  things  in  the  universe  to  which  we 
belong  ?  and  what  is  the  power  which  enables  us  to  grasp 
these  relations  and  adapt  them  to  our  use  hni  intellect  raised 
to  its  highest  potency,  and  governing  the  activity  of  all  the 
lower  faculties  of  the  mind  ?  ,  j  •    ^u 

Now,  as  reason  in  this  higher  sense  of  the  word  is  the 
very  efflorescence  and  the  ripest  fruit  of  our  whole  intellec- 
tual life,  it  would  be  absurd  to  indicate  any  special  methods 
for  its  cultivation.     Whatever  tends  to  enlighten  and  de- 
velope  the  whole  mind,  whatever  preserves  it  from  partial 
and   one-sided   notions,   whatever  brings  out  the  normal 
activity  of  the  whole  of  the  faculties  and  trains  them  in  a 
perfectly  harmonious  co-operation  with  one  another,  must 
exactly  so  far  promote  the  exercise  of  reason  properly  so 
called.     The  great  point,  therefore,  is  to  form  and  follow  a 
scheme  of  education  which  brings  all  the  faculties  into  play 
without  laying  undue  weight  upon  any  one  element  in  our 
intellectual  nature,  to  the  neglect  of  all  the  rest.     It  must 
be  acknowledged  that  this  is  a  matter  which  has  been  too 
much  neglected  in  connection  with  the  higher  education  of 
all  countries.     A  youth  enters  a  monastic  seminary  m  Italy. 
His  whole  mind  is  from  that  moment  bent  in  one  direction. 
He  is  taught  to  reverence  simply  the  learning  of  past  ages. 
His  mind  is  thrown  back  entirely  upon   authority  as  the 
only  safe  guide  to  knowledge.     He  is  taught  to  distrust  all 
private  judgments,  and  to  repress  every  tendency  to  think 
out  any  human  truth  for  himself.     The  ultimate  result  can 
hardly   be  any   other  than  to   cripple   the   reason   in   its 
growth,  by  excluding  all  intellectual  light  except  from  one 
particular'  quarter,   all   intellectual  activity  except  in  one 
direction. 


Lecture  II, 


2-?  r 


Another  pupil  enters  an  English  high  school,  w^here  the 
training  is  exclusively  classical — an  excellent  training,  no 
doubt,  as  far  as  it  goes,  but  then  it  does  not  go  far  enough. 
All  the  mighty  influences  which  flow  from  the  study  of 
science  are  wanting,  and  the  scholar  goes  out  into  the  world 
with  linguistic  power  and  refined  taste,  but  with  hardly  any 
points  of  contact  with  the  great  laws  of  nature,  and  without 
those  habits  of  thought  which  an  intimate  knowledge  of 
those  laws  can  alone  superinduce.^ 

Another  student  devotes  himself  exclusively  to  mathe- 
matics, and  superinduces  mental  habits  equally  exclusive  in 
another  direction.  The  remark  has  often  been  made,  and 
not  without  good  reason,  that  a  mind  accustomed  exclu- 
sively to  demonstrative  evidence,  is  too  apt  to  fail  when 
called  upon  to  deal  with  the  conflicting  probabilities  of 
daily  life.  In  brief,  whatever  tends  to  give  the  mind  a 
one-sided  bent,  is  sure,  in  the  long  run,  to  obscure  some 
portion  of  the  light  of  reason,  and  render  the  development 
of  the  whole  man  proportionally  imperfect ;  and  that  such 
failure  is  likely  to  be  produced  by  a  one-sided  and  excessive 
mathematical  training,  can,  I  think,  hardly  be  doubted.  So 
far,  therefore,  as  psychology  can  throw  any  light  on  the 
subject,  it  speaks  wholly  in  favour  of  the  system  which 
proposes  to  have  every  branch  of  human  learning  duly  re- 
presented in  the  scheme  of  our  University  studies,  and  thus 
to  give  at  least  the  opportunity  to  every  student  of  gaining 
all  the  mental  discipline  which  arises  from  a  due  combina- 
tion of  the  whole.  Should  it  then  be  necessary  for  each 
individual  to  take  up  any  one  branch  of  study  as  his  own 
especial  department,  still  the  spirit  which  pervades  the 
whole  institution  will  be  the  needful  guarantee  against  that 
exclusiveness  which  warps  the  judgment  and  cripples  the 
reason. 

We  have  now  gone  through  the  four  gradations  or  phases 
of  intellectual  life  which  we  proposed  in  the  outset  to  con- 
sider.    Let  us,  in  fine,  briefly  sum  up  the  results  at  which 

1  It  is  but  just  to  say  that  this  is  a  description  of  the  English  public 
school  as  it  was,  rather  than  as  it  is.  Within  the  last  ten  years  a  large 
scientific  element  has  been  added. 


1% 


236 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Lecture  IL 


237 


flti 


|3       : 


Ms 


we  have  arrived.     The  root  of  the  intellect,  its  primary 
germ  and  starting-point,  lies  hidden  in  those  pre-conscious 
conditions  which  precede  our  whole  mental  history.     Here 
the  very  same  laws  are  secretly  at  work  which  afterwards 
come  to  light  in  our  conscious  existence.     When  the  light 
of  consciousness  first  dawns,  what  do  we  find  ?    We  find  a 
bodily  frame  perfectly  formed,  we  find  a  number  of  outlets 
and  inlets  to  the  soul,— I  mean  the  five   senses  already 
brought  into  full  play,— and  a  mutual  action  and  reaction 
going  on  between  the  world  without  and  the  world  within, 
all  governed  and  regulated  by  those  pre-conscious  laws  of 
our  nature  above  referred  to.     This,  then,  is  the  first  school 
at  which  we  begin  to  learn  ;  and  here,  in  their  lowest  phase, 
all  the  elements  of  mind  are  already  at  work,  and  the  whole 
complex  of  its  activity  is  put  forth.     In  principle,  the  laws 
of  intelligence  are  already  in  full  operation ;  for,  even  in 
our  primary  perceptions,  we  separate  and  distinguish  on  the 
one  hand,  we  combine  and  group  phenomena  on  the  other. 
Evidently  so,  for  to  perceive  a  thing  means  no  other  than 
to  separate  it  from  the  whole  mass  of  sensations  which  are 
pouring  in  upon  us,  and  to  recognise  it  when  again  pre- 
sented.    We  are  therefore  now,  even  in   this  early  stage, 
beginning  to  drink  in  through  the  senses  those  materials 
from  without  which  give  substance,  life,  reality,  and  fresh- 
ness to  our  subsequent  ideas.     Nature  herself  supplies  per- 
ceptive teaching  to  each  individual  within  the  range  of  his 
own  direct  experience  ;  but  this  teaching  of  nature  has  to 
be  supplemented  by  art,  so  as  to  render  the  fulness  and 
variety  of  our  perceptive  life  far  greater  than  it  could  other- 
wise be.     The  little  world  of  our  own  natural  experience 
may  thus  be  expanded  indefinitely  by  those  wise  appliances 
of  education  usually  termed  perceptive  teaching. 

Out  of  the  material  of  our  perceptions,  then,  we  go  on  to 
form  ideas.  The  mind,  by  its  own  free  activity,  seizes  upon 
the  most  prominent  features  in  our  perceptions,  and  com- 
bines them ;  while  the  power  of  language  comes  to  our  aid, 
and  enables  us  to  fix  the  ideas  so  formed  by  an  abiding 
symbol.  Thus  similar  experiences,  on  the  one  hand,  are 
united  in  groups,  while  the  mind  ranges,  on  the  other  hand, 
over  an  infinity  of  qualities  or  attributes,  thus  giving  richness 


and  variety  to  our  thoughts,  and  enabling  us  to  re-combine 
them  at  will  into  a  thousand  artistic  forms.  Here,  then,  we 
have  the  same  twofold  law  of  mind  in  operation,  giving  rise 
to  the  two  classes  of  mental  phenomena  which  we  term 
understanding  or  conception  on  the  one  hand,  and  imagina- 
tion on  the  other.  The  due  consideration  of  this  law  gives 
us  another  clue  to  the  formation  of  sound  methods  of  in- 
struction. Those  methods  which  neither  stimulate  the 
understanding  nor  enrich  the  imagination  must  \>^  practi- 
cally worthless.  The  pouring  into  the  mind  of  isolated 
ideas  or  catalogues  of  names  can  result  in  nothing  but  an 
obstruction  to  the  development  of  our  mental  powers,  while 
methodical  teaching,  in  which  everything  becomes  part  of  a 
great  system  of  ideas,  and  takes  its  place  in  a  complete 
map  of  human  knowledge,  aids  the  memory,  builds  up  the 
understanding,  and  feeds  the  imagination. 

Here,  then,  as  we  saw,  the  lower  range  of  educational 
methods  and  appliances  may  be  said  to  end,  and  the  higher 
range  to  begin.  The  twofold  law  of  the  intellect,  which 
has  been  hitherto  working  implicitly  throughout  the  natural 
development  of  the  understanding  and  imagination,  now 
enters  upon  a  more  explicit  form  of  development  in  the 
direct  cultivation  and  use  of  logical  processes.  The  mind 
learns  now  to  define,  to  judge,  to  reason,  to  do  so  consciously 
and  explicitly.  Accordingly,  a  higher  system  of  educational 
appliances  becomes  necessary  to  train  the  logical  faculties 
to  their  full  development,  amongst  which  the  study  of  the 
classical  or  modern  languages,  and  the  pursuit  of  science, 
are  amongst  the  most  important,  and  point  most  directly  to 
the  end  we  have  in  view. 

Then,  last  of  all,  comes  the  mature  fruit  of  our  whole 
intellectual  development— I  mean  the  reason,  properly  so 
called, — the  power  of  combining  and  co-ordinating  all  the 
elements  of  human  knowledge,  and  adapting  our  life  to  the 
vast  environment  which  philosophy,  art,  science,  and  religion 
open  out  before  us.  To  cultivate  the  reason  in  this  higher 
sense  of  the  term,  are  demanded  the  studies  of  a  University, 
— in  the  literal  acceptation  of  that  word,  a  seat  of  learning 
in  which  every  branch  of  human  knowledge  is  represented, 
and  an  education  off'ered  in  which  all  the  influences  of  all 


if 


238 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


those  various  branches  are  duly  blended,  so  as  to  educe  not 
a  one-sided,  but  a  full  and  harmonious  result.  Into  this 
harmonious  training  of  the  faculties  will  enter  things  human 
and  things  divine,— all  the  light  which  can  flow  from  reason 
on  the  one  side,  from  revelation  on  the  other,— so  that  the 
pupil  may  be  trained  not  only  to  enter  into  all  the  relations 
of  human  life,  but  into  all  the  relations  he  niay  here 
and  hereafter  hold  with  the  entire  universe  of  bemg,  with 
nature,  with  created  mind,  and  with  God  the  Creator  of 

We  have  now  completed  our  inventory  of  the  intellectual 
powers ;  but  these  form  only  one  out  of  the  three  forms  of 
mental  activity  into  which  psychology  has  divided  all  the 
phenomena  of  the  human  mind.  There  yet  remain  to  be 
considered  the  will  and  the  emotions,  neither  of  which  can 
be  neglected  by  the  true  educator,  though  they  do  not  take 
the  same  place  in  his  scheme  of  action  as  does  the  develop- 
ment of  the  intellect,  which  we  have  been  hitherto  con- 
sidering. We  must  reserve  the  fuller  consideration  of  the 
means  to  be  employed  in  the  education  of  the  will  and  the 
emotions  to  another  opportunity,  and  content  ourselves 
at  present   with   a  few   remarks   simply   to    prepare    the 

way. 

First,  then,  it  can  hardly  be  denied  by  any  one  who  takes 
a  proper  view  of  human  character,  that  the  training  of  the 
ivill  is  a  matter  of  equal  importance  with  that  of  the  intellect. 
It  may  not  appear  to  enter  so  directly  into  the  scheme  of 
education,  but  it  certainly  should  never  be  wholly  absent 
from  view.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  imagine  that  it  occupies 
the  anxious  thoughts  of  every  one  to  whom  the  training  of 
youth  is  committed,  fully  as  much  as  their  mere  intellectual 
development.     The  next  observation  we  have  to  make  is, 
that  the  power  of  the  will  grows  up  from  a  primitive  and 
spontaneous  form  of  activity,  much  in  the  same  way  as  the 
intellect  grows  up  from  sensation  and  perception  to  the 
exercise  of  reason.     Just  as  sensations  lie  at  the  basis  of 
our  intellectual  life,  and  form  the  primary  material  on  which 
the  mind  begins  to  work  in  the  direction  of  knowledge,  so 
do  the  instinctive  and  reflex  actions  so  largely  developed 
in  our  very  infancy  lie  at  the  basis  of  our  volitional  life, 


Lecture  IL 


239 


and  form  the  primary  facts  out  of  which  the  mind  first  begins 
to  work  in  the  direction  of  voluntary  activity.  The  mode, 
too,  in  which  this  volitional  development  takes  place  is 
strictly  analogous  with  the  growth  of  the  perceptions.  Every 
act  we  perform  leaves  its  residua  behind,  just  the  same  as 
every  perception  we  experience ;  and  the  tendency  to  recur- 
rence, in  which  the  very  essence  of  all  residua  consists,  is 
the  principle  according  to  which  our  first  spontaneous 
actions  grow  up  into  habits  of  action,  quite  as  much  as 
it  is  the  principle  by  which  our  general  perceptions  are 
originated. 

A  third  observation  we  have  to  make  is,  that  volition  can 
only  develope  parallel  with  the  development  of  intelligence, 
inasmuch  as  reason  must  enter  largely  into  the  whole  pro- 
cess by  which  we  come  to  exercise  a  power  over  our  own 
actions  and  desires.  Will,  in  the  special  acceptation  of  that 
term,  is  not  simply  the  power  of  spontaneous  action  ;  it  is 
really  a  very  complex  state,  composed  of  many  different 
elements, — a  state  in  which  the  spontaneous  activity,  origin- 
ally implanted  in  our  nervous  organization,  is  directed,  by 
the  co-operation  of  the  other  faculties,  to  a  specific  end. 
The  very  first  ingredient,  therefore,  which  enters  into  a  truly 
volitional  act,  is  intelligence,  for  without  such  intelligence 
there  can  be  no  clear  apprehension  of  any  end  or  purpose 
towards  which  we  are  acting.  Added  to  this,  we  must  have 
the  power  of  balancing  motives,  of  deciding  between  them, 
and  then  entering  upon  a  course  of  action  in  accordance 
with  the  decision.  The  only  element  peculiar  to  all  this  is 
the  active  or  motor  power ,  developed  through  the  nervous 
organization.  The  volitional  use  of  this  power  is  due  to  a 
large  combination  of  other  elements,  to  regulate  which 
the  influence  of  education  may  be  most  effectively  applied. 
How  it  must  be  applied  we  shall  see  more  particularly 
hereafter. 

The  third  great  division  of  mental  phenomena  with  which 
we  started  is  the  sphere  of  the  emotions.  Emotion,  like 
volition,  is  a  highly  complex  phenomenon.  All  the  different 
varieties  of  emotional  sensibility  have  their  respective  ob- 
jects, which  can  only  be  grasped  by  the  intellect,  and  all  of 
them  engage  the  power  of  the  will  to  strive  after  their 


i   1 


240 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Lectu7'e  II, 


241 


In 


tH 


attainment.  Some  of  the  emotions  (those,  namely,  of  the 
higher  and  more  ennobling  class)  require  to  be  aided  and 
developed  by  culture  and  education.  Of  this  kind  are 
sympathy  and  benevolence,  of  this  kind  are  the  sentiments 
of  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  of  this  kind  are  the  moral  and 
religious  feelings.  All  these  emotions,  though  they  have 
their  root  in  human  nature,  will  ordinarily  languish  and 
expire  under  pressure  and  neglect,  but  will  add  infinite 
strength   and   ornament   to   human   character  when   duly 

unfolded. 

Others  of  the  emotions,  on  the  contrary,  are  apt  under 
unfavourable  circumstances  to  gain  the  mastery  over  the 
better  part  of  human  nature,  and  require  to  be  guided  and 
controlled  by  education.  Anger,  envy,  jealousy,  ambition, 
avarice,  and  a  host  of  other  similiar  impulses,  though  they 
have  their  use  in  the  economy  of  the  human  mind,  yet  easily 
become  excessive  and  proportionally  baleful  in  their  in- 
fluences and  effects.  Education  has,  therefore,  as  necessary 
a  function  to  repress  and  to  regulate  these,  as  to  strengthen 
and  develope  the  others ;  and  no  education  can  be  perfect, 
or  any  other  indeed  than  utterly  imperfect,  which  does  not 
aim  at  these  two  purposes  in  relation  to  the  emotions,  just 
as  much  as  it  aims  at  the  culture  of  the  intellect  and  the 
regulation  of  the  will.  These  are  points,  however,  which 
we  shall  have  to  take  up  in  our  next  lecture,  and  which  we 
need  not,  therefore,  pursue  any  further  on  the  present 
occasion. 

What,  then,  is  the  general  result  of  the  analysis,  the  out- 
lines of  which  we  have  presented  to  you  in  the  present 

lecture? 

Is  it  that  the  mind  at  birth  is  a  tabula  rasa,  wholly 
without  determination  of  any  kind,  and  that  it  awaits  the 
power  of  circumstances  to  engrave  on  it  all  the  characters 
it  can  ever  possess  ?  By  no  means.  The  great  pre-conscious 
laws  of  our  being,  we  maintain,  precede  all  circumstances 
and  determine  the  form  of  our  mental  activity  before  even 
the  smallest  elementary  material  is  furnished  by  the  external 

world.  •  1.  J 

Is  it,  then,  that  the  mind  is  created  already  furnished 


with  a  whole  apparatus  of  innate  ideas,  the  development  of 
which  determines  the  whole  character  of  its  future  know- 
ledge ?  This  theory,  I  conceive,  can  be  no  more  rationally 
maintained  than  its  opposite. 

The  human  mind,  according  to  the  view  presented  in  the 
present  lecture,  is  the  highest  production  of  nature,  the  last 
and  most  perfect  result  of  organized  life.     Like  all  other 
departments  of  life,  it  is  subject  to  certain  fundamental  laws 
which  regulate  its  action,  and  then,  by  means  of  these  laws, 
has  to  adapt  itself  to  the  whole  environment  in  which  it  is 
placed.     Following  the  analogy  of  those  lower  departments 
of  nature,  in  which  we  observe  the  development  of  species 
from  lower  to  progressively  higher  forms,  so  also  we  see 
the  mind  of  man,  under  the  teaching  of  nature  and  by  the 
power  of  self-education,  entering  on  a  great  course  of  pro- 
gressive evolution.     What  is  gained  in  one  age  is  transmitted 
as  a  heritage  to  the  next ;  and  education,  starting  in  every 
age  from  the  vantage-ground  thus   afforded,  goes   on   to 
accumulate  mind  force  in  each  separate  sphere  of  activity, 
intellectual,  volitional,  or  emotional,  thus  aiding  the  general 
progress  of  humanity  and  widening  with  the  circles  of  the 
sun  the  whole  horizon  of  human   knowledge.     And  if,  by 
this  view  of  the  case,  we  are  carried  backwards  to  an  origin 
which  might  make  the  thoughtless  blush  at  the  sight  of  their 
pedigree,  let  us  not  forget  that,  exactly  in  proportion  to 
the  depth  from  which  we  have  been  raised,  is  the  height 
to  which,  under  the  power  of  progressive  evolution,  we  may 
be  destined  yet  to  attain. 


Lecture  III, 


243 


LECTURE   III. 

IN  our  last  lecture  we  began  by  remarking  that  modern 
psychology  has,  by  a  general  agreement,  divided  the 
entire  phenomena  of  the  human  mind  into  three  great  classes, 
namely,— the  intellectual  powers,  the  will,  and  the  emo- 
tions. As  the  intellectual  powers  are  those  which  are  most 
immediately  concerned  in  education,  we  went  at  some 
length  into  their  nature,  their  varieties,  and  the  approved 
methods  of  their  cultivation.  The  two  other  classes  ot 
phenomena,  the  volitional  and  the  emotional,  we  reserved 
for  another  opportunity ;  and  as  that  opportunity  has  now 
arrived,  we  shall  take  them  up  briefly  one  after  the  other, 
but  mostly  from  a  practical  and  educational  point  of  view. 

And  first,  with  regard  to  the  will,  let  me  begin  by  repeat- 
ing what  I  before  explained,  that  the  development  ot  the 
will  is  stricdy  analogous  to  that  of  the  intelligence.  1  he 
first  instinctive  actions  of  childhood  contain  the  root  ^^f 
starting-point  of  all  volition,  just  as  the  perceptions  of  child- 
hood contain  the  root  and  starting-point  of  all  intelligence. 
It  will  not  be  necessary  for  us  to  trace  the  growth  of  volitional 
power  so  closely  through  its  diff'erent  phases  as  we  did  the 
growth  of  the  intellect.  For  all  practical  purposes  it  will 
be  sufficient  if  we  take  the  lower  and  the  higher  form  ot 
volitional  activity,  and  show  the  principle  on  which  their 
due  cultivation  must  be  grounded. 

By  the  lower  form  of  volitional  activity,  we  mean  the 
power  which  the  mind  possesses  over  the  motor  mechanism 
of  the  human  frame.  Every  one  knows  that  when  he  moves 
any  part  of  his  body,  the  will  is  concerned  in  that  act ;  but 
what  I  want  now  to  point  out  to  you  is,  that  when  the 


movements  are  of  a  complicated  or  difficult  nature,  they 
can  only  be  performed  by  means  of  a  course  of  training  in 
which  the  mind  gains  a  power  over  the  nervous  and  mus- 
cular system,  which  without  such  training  would  be  quite 
impossible.     The  human  frame  is,  in  fact,  a  perfect  auto- 
maton in  relation  to  the  will.     The  complicated  movements 
by  which  all  our  muscular  activity  is  carried  on,  are  as  much 
removed  from  our  consciousness  as  though  they  were  the 
wheels  and  pulleys  of  a  machine.     The  mind  contemplates 
an  end  which  it  desires  to  accomplish,  and  the  will  looking 
over  all  the  intermediate  agency  gives  the  signal  for  action. 
Very  often,  after  the  will  has  sent  forth  its  mandate,  the  motor 
system  falls  short  of  this  end,  and  we  fail  to  accomplish  what 
the  will  commands.     In  this  case,  be  it  observed,  no  mere 
effort  of  will  can  bridge  over  the  difficulty.     Our  only  help 
lies  m  a  more  perfect  adjustment  being  established  between 
the  will  and  the  motor  mechanism.     When  by  such  training 
new  facility  is  acquired,  the  power  thus  superinduced  is 
termed  the  power  oi  habit 

Habit  is  to  the  general  power  of  voluntary  activity  very 
much  the  same  thing  as  perception  is  to  the  general  power 
of  intelligence.     Just  as  we  learn  to  perceive  instinctively 
by  the  accumulation  and  complete  blending  of  innumerable 
mental  residua,  so  we  learn  to  perform  all  the  ordinary  acts 
of  life  by  the  accumulation  of  residua,  which  thus  give  an 
unconscious  automatic  direction  to  the  whole  motor  system. 
The  child,  at  first,  has  no  power  over  the  guidance  and 
direction  of  his  limbs  in  reference  to  any  external  desire  or 
purpose  which  he  may  form.     It  is  quite  easy  to  watch  his 
tentative  efforts,  and  see   him  fail  in  grasping  an   object 
which  he  appears  in  after  life  to  lay  hold  of  with  a  perfectly 
unconscious  and  instinctive  precision.     The  reason  is,  that 
the  appropriate  motor  residua  are  not  yet  formed ;  the  ten- 
dency for  this  kind  of  action  to  recur  when  any  particular 
desire  is  conceived  has  not  yet  been  created  or  sufficiently 
consolidated.     Just  as  we  must  learn,  therefore,  to  perceive 
the  objects  which  we  afterwards   know  by  a  direct  and 
irresistible  intuition,  so  we  must  learn   to  do  the   most 
ordinary  acts  before  we  perform  them,  as  it  were,  instinc- 
tively and  automatically.      Thus  it  is  that  the  power  of 


i«i»iiM!i«i»«ii»i«»iim;w«.g>g!jiia!M 


i«i»iiM!i«i»«ii»i«»iim;w«.g>g!jiia!M 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


244 

habit  lies  at  the  basis  of  almost  the  whole  of  our  bodily 

ntfformation  of  habits,  however,  can  be  most  easily 
traced  in  cases  where  they  are  leaned  lat«  «  ^^  ^^^ 
this  respect  they  stand  para^el  t°  *o^e  percep 

are  ordinarily  termed  f^«ff^^jf^,""!ood  typal  example 
of  playing  on  .^ni^^l '"f  ""^^"'  An  unpractfsed  person, 

play  f"';.,'""''^t/rnstwment  is  unmanageable  m  his 
r'f\e's-una^k  to  findThe  position  of  the  keys  whUe 
hands ;  he  is  "nawe^°  ""  .  ^is  fingers  cannot  move  over 
he  is  looking  at  the  notes,  ws  "°S"=  ,  ^  p    gi^ply 

them  either  with  prec..on  or  ^ap^ity^    And^why^^  ^^^^P  y 

because  ^e  ha  "jer  ^  "^^  ^  accordingly,  stored  up  no 
to  elicit  a  musical  eiieci,  n  ,  fr^rmed  no  habit  to  aid 
corresponding  motor^e^ch^^^^^^^^^^ 

him.     He  has,  accoraingiy,  i  already  acqu  red,  and 

of  analogous  muscular  t"0."°"  ^^^^  j^™  it  ^ere.  every 
by  close  —ryattenuont^^  spell^out  ^^  . 

"°''Tnhrae  VVhen  this  has  been  done  once,  the  first 
musical  phrase.     When  ^  ^^^.^^^  ^^^^  ^ 

T  .n'^nd  a  muscilW  movement  has  been  effected  which 
formed,  and  a  muscuiai  ,„„__Juce  as  the  tendency  to 

is  exactly  so  much  eas  er  to  reproduce  as^i  ^^^^ 

recurrence  after  one  attempt  ^ff^^^^^l^^^^  of  the 
The  subsequent  steps,  then    are  a  ""e^e      P  j^Uzed 

«"^-  n^r  ?Wchis\dng  ccumured  in'  this  U-lar 
motor  power  which  is  being  ^^.^^^  ^^^^^^^  ^^ 

*'''Th'at  the  mere  sighf  of  the  notes  before  us  will  excite 
strong  tha  ««  n^e'^J^^j  ^.hich  are  necessary  to  perform 
the  special  nervous  actionb  "  ,  ^     becomes 

or  reproduce  them  J  the  mstrument^  I'jcian  can  often  be 

virtually  reflex;  and  the  ™.'"^  °' ;  ,  ,  -^  j^  the  consent 
occupied  about  other  ^"bjects  and  ^u  to         ^^^^^_ 


Lecture  III, 


245 


At  this  period  the  motor  mechanism  has  not  acquired  any- 
very  strong  tendencies  in  any  direction,  so  that  residua  may- 
be accumulated  without  difficulty,  and  made  to  tell  with 
especial  force  upon  any  particular  mode  of  action  which  it 
may  be  designed  to  cultivate.  After  a  time  conflicting 
associations  come  in,  antagonistic  habits  are  formed,  and 
equal  labour  has  to  be  undergone  in  overcoming  the  one  as 
in  acquiring  the  other. 

In  this  account  which  we  have  just  given  of  the  formation 
of  habits,  the  whole  theory  of  physical  education  is  virtually 
explained.     It  is  now  usually  considered  to  be  a  matter  of 
some  moment  to  train  up  our  youth  to  the  acquisition  of 
muscular  power ;  and  the  increase  of  muscular  power  is 
known  well  to  depend  on  regular  and  repeated  exercise. 
The  repetition  of  any  given  series  of  motor  actions  results 
in -the  development  of  cellular  tissue,  and  increases  in  that 
proportion  both  the  pouter  and  the  tendency  to  call  forth 
similar  efforts  in  the  future.     If  we  require  to  cultivate  any 
series  of  actions  which  depend  upon  skill  rather  than  strength, 
the  training  of  the  motor  system  must  take  place  in  the 
same  way,  until  a  complete  consent  is  established  between 
the  will  or  effort  to  perform  the  actions  in  question  and  the 
muscular  apparatus  by  which  they  are  carried  out.     In  pro- 
portion, moreover,  as  the  series  of  movements  require  tact, 
dexterity,  rapidity,  and  accuracy,  in  that  proportion  must 
the  training  be  commenced  in  early  life.     Great  proficiency 
in  performing   on  a  musical   instrument,  great   ease   and 
steadiness  in  such  exercises  as  skating,  riding,  playing  games 
of  skill,  and  so  forth,  can  very  rarely  be  acquired  unless  the 
motor  apparatus  be  adjusted  to  the  volitions  in  early  life. 
The  same  thing  may  be  said  of  deportment.     The  tendency, 
so  frequent  in  children,  to  awkwardness,  or  what  the  French 
term  gaucherie,  requires  to  be  overcome  by  regular  and 
systematic  exercises  of  an  antagonistic  kind.     Where  habits 
of  graceful  movement  are  learned  early,  they  remain  as  a 
heritage  for  ever  afterwards ;   the  mind  and  the  will  may 
henceforth  banish  all  thought  and  all  effort  regarding  them. 
Once  laid  up  amongst  the  residua  ready  for  action,  the 
motor    mechanism    will    reproduce    them    whenever    the 
association  prompts ;  and  thus  good  manners  (as  far  as  the 


246 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Lecture  III. 


247 


outward  expression  is  concerned)  become  a  part  of  our 
unconscious  and  spontaneous  life. 

Now  the  explanation  we  have  just  given  of  the  manner 
in  which  the  lower  sphere  of  our  volition  may  be  tram ed  m 
regard  to  physical  acts,  will  apply  with  almost  perfect  exact- 
ness and  parallelism  to  the  training  of  the  will  m  regard  to 
the  higher  sphere  of  human  character.  Every  time  we 
perform  a  given  action,  a  residuum  is  left  in  the  mind, 
which  renders  the  facility  for  performing  it  again  and  the 
tendency  to  do  so,  relatively  greater  than  it  was  before.  To 
this  fact  we  have  already  traced  the  power  of  habit  and  the 
growth  of  skill  in  physical  actions  ;  and  to  this  same  general 
law  I  have  to  show  you,  we  may  now  trace  the  further 
devdopment  of  the  human  will  in  its  power  over  every  other 
kind  of  human  action.  ^ 

The  law,  as  applied  to  human  action  generally,  may  be 

thus  stated  : — 

The  power  and  tendency  we  possess  to  follow  any  given  course 
of  action  is  proportional  to  the  frequency  with  which  such 
action  has  been  repeated,  and  the  consequent  strength  of 
the  mental  habit  which  is  formed  in  this  special  direction. 

The  child  in  early  life  has  formed  as  yet  no  habits  with 
regard  to  his  actions ;  he  does,  therefore,  at  every  moment 
whatever  he  feels  impelled  to  do  by  the  temporary  motives 
and  impulses  acting  upon  him.  If  he  grows  up  to  do  this 
without  any  check  upon  him  on  the  part  of  parental  or 
any  other  authority,  the  habit  of  acting  accordmg  to  his 
immediate  impulses  soon  becomes  strengthened,  residua 
accumulate  in  this  particular  direction,  and  control  soon 
becomes  exceedingly  difficult.  Compare  this  case  with  that 
of  a  child  brought  up  under  stem  command.  The  mental 
tendency  here  developed  assumes  quite  a  different  charac- 
ter In  place  of  following  his  own  impulses,  he  is  afraid  to 
yield  to  a  single  desire;  he  is  so  accustomed  to  repress  his 
own  wishes,  and  act  only  upon  authority,  that  all  his  voli- 
tional tendencies  are  bent  in  this  direction.  He  will  hesitate 
to  do  what  his  own  feelings  prompt ;  he  will  fly  to  the 
performance  of  what  is  sternly  enjoined.  Take  another 
example  from  the  American  Indian.     In  ordinary  life  he  is 


the  creature  of  his  impulses  and  passions,  and  cannot  bear 
the  shackles  of  civilisation.  This  very  Indian,  however, 
can  exercise  the  most  unbending  will  when  taken  in  battle 
and  subjected  to  torture.  He  and  his  forefathers  have  been 
taught  to  look  upon  endurance,  in  this  respect,  as  a  virtue 
and  a  necessity ;  and  in  proportion  as  they  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  command  themselves  under  suffering,  they  acquire 
a  power  of  voluntary  restraint  which  more  civilised  men  are 
wholly  unable  to  exhibit.  Here,  accordingly,  we  ^ee  the 
operation  of  the  law  before  stated,  that  the  accumulation 
of  power  in  any  direction  is  proportional  to  the  frequency 
and  constancy  with  which  the  actions  in  question  have  been 
repeated. 

Let  us  trace  the  influence  of  this  law  in  education.     We 
go  back  to  the  indiff'erent  period  of  childhood,  where  the 
active  power  is  lying,  as  it  were,  balanced  amongst  the 
different  motives  which  will  soon  bear  upon  it,  and  inevi- 
tably draw  it  into  some  predominant  direction.     We  will 
suppose  now  that  the  educating  influences  are  favourable. 
When  this  is  the  case,  then  every  time  that  the  child  is 
unduly  prompted  by  passion,  or  selfishness,  or  indolence,  to 
neglect  a  duty  or  commit  a  fault,  a  salutary  restraint  is 
exercised.     The  necessity  of  subduing  the  appetites,  and 
the  superior  excellence  of  actions  which  are  in  accordance 
with  rational  conviction,  is  first  explained  and  then  firmly 
enforced.      Every  conquest  which  is  thus  gained  over  a 
passion  or  an  appetite,  and  every  instance  in  which  reason 
or  duty  is  accepted  as  the  guide,  strengthen  the  tendency 
to  follow  reason  and  duty  in  place  of  mere  inclination.    What 
is  done  first,  under  the  pressure  of  authority  and  a  wise 
compulsion,  is  soon  done  from  a  perception  of  right,  and 
from  the  habit  of  being  influenced  by  it.     Thus,  as  the 
parental  authority  is  relaxed,  we  transfer  our  allegiance  to 
the  more  general  claims  of  moral  law,  and  acquire  the 
habitude,  by  the  continued  observance  of  this  law,  to  act 
uniformly  in  accordance  with  the  precepts  which  it  enjoins. 
The  mere  perception  of  the  excellency  of  the  moral  law, 
and  the  great  desirableness  of  acting  on  it,  is  not  enough. 
Thousands  there  are  who  approve  one  course  and  follow 
another.     Their  reason  is  enlightened  enough  to  see  and 


248  Philosophical  Fragments, 

admire   the   good,   the  beautiful,  and  the   true ;  but  the^ 
pZer  voUtio^naU  have  not  been  accumulated,  or,  if 

Accumulated,  there  are  other  accumulations  which  impe 
them  to  follow  certain  appetites  and  passions,  so  as  to  render 
the^Ufe  one  perpetual  struggle  between  opposmg  tendencies 
Where  the  mind  is  the  theatre  of  such  struggles,  we  agree 
^deciding  that  the  will  is  weak.     When  such  struggles 
cease  by  the  conquest  of  reason  and  conscience  over  im- 
pose and  passion,  we  agree  in  saying  that  the  will  is  ./../^. 
^  It  is  by  the  consolidation  of  these  habits,  finally,  that  the 
general  result  is  produced  which  we  term  character,    A  good 
or  bad  character,  a  weak  or  strong  character,  an  ordinary 
or  extraordinary  character-all  these  express  different  states 
Lto  whTch  we  a're  brought  in  regard  to  the  mode  and  motives 
of  our  action,  by  means  of  the  processes  just  pointed  out. 
Of  course,  we  must  take  into  account  the  hereditary  ten- 
dencies  which  may  give  a  bias  in  one  direction  or  another ; 
but  allowing  for  these,  the  character  of  each  individual  is 
formed  by  the  very  same  law  that  shapes  our  active  habits 
anTputs  the  regulation  of  our  practical  life  at  the  disposa 
ekhe^r  of  inclinadon  or  reason,  either  of  passion  or  of  mora 
law     Thus,  from  performing  the  more  simple  and  indifferent 
acTons  as  the  result  of  a  conscious  purpose,  we  gradually 
rise  to  the  performance  of  more  important  ones ;  we  learn 
to  act  on  a  fixed  purpose,  even  when  Passions  and  empta- 
tk)ns  draw  us  in  another  direction  ;  we  give  to  life  1   elf  one 
great  purpose,  which  we  ever  pursue,  and  thus,  finally,  form 
a  character  which  may  be  eternal.  :„,^^rt 

The  education  of  the  will  is  really  of  ^^r  greater  miport- 
ance,  as  shaping  the  destiny  of  the  individual,  han  the 
education  of  the  intellect ;  and  it  should  never  be  lost  sight 
of  by  the  practical  educator,  that  it  is  by  amassing  and 
consolidating  our  volitional  residua  in  ^^^rtain  given  direc- 
lions  that  this  end  can  alone  be  secured.  Theory,  and 
doctrine,  and  inculcation  of  laws  and  propositions,  will  never 
of  themselves  lead  to  the  uniform  habit  of  right  action.  It 
is  by  doing  we  learn  to  do,  by  oi^ercoming  we  learn  to  over- 
come, by  obeying  reason  and  conscience  that  we  learn  to 
obey  and  every  right  act  which  we  cause  to  spnng  out  of 
pure  principle,  whether  by  authority,  precept,  or  example, 


Lecture  III, 


249 


will  have  a  greater  direct  weight  in  the  formation  of  charac- 
ter than  all  the  theory  in  the  world. 

So  far,  then,  for  the  education  of  the  will.  We  must  now 
pass  onwards  to  the  third  and  last  of  the  three  great  divisions 
of  mental  phenomena — I  mean  the  emotions. 

The  psychology  of  the  emotions  is  somewhat  difficult  and 
obscure,  and  it  would  hardly  serve  our  purpose  to  enter  into 
the  analysis  of  them  in  the  present  lecture.  But  if  the  nature 
and  genesis  of  the  emotions  is  obscure,  the  manner  of  their 
growth  and  development  is  abundantly  clear,  and  this  will 
be  quite  sufficient  for  the  practical  point  of  view  from  which 
we  have  now  to  regard  them. 

In  looking,  then,  over  the  whole  range  of  the  emotions 
from  this  practical  and  educational  point  of  view,  we  find 
them  divisible  into  two  great  classes — first,  those  emotions 
which  require  to  be  governed  and  repressed ;  and  secondly, 
those  which  require  rather  to  be  developed  and  promoted. 

I.  To  those  which  require  to  be  governed  and  held  in 
check  belong  especially  the  passions,  inasmuch  as  these  are 
par  excellence  the  emotions  which  most  frequently  master 
the  will  and  run  counter  to  the  dictates  of  reason.  The 
passions  are  complex  states.  They  involve,  first  of  all,  some 
natural  or  artificial  feeling  which  is  productive  of  pleasure 
or  gratification.  Then,  secondly,  some  act  is  performed  on 
our  part,  which  act,  thirdly,  becomes  intimately  associated 
with  the  pleasure  we  derive  from  it.  Every  time  this  act  is 
performed,  and  the  gratification  experienced,  a  fresh  residuum 
is  deposited,  and  the  tendency  to  repeat  the  act  (according 
to  the  law  we  have  many  times  explained)  becomes  stronger. 
Thus,  in  process  of  time,  the  craving  for  the  pleasure,  and 
the  tendency  to  repeat  the  act  which  supplies  it,  become  so 
strong  that  they  together  overcome  the  suggestions  of  reason 
and  get  a  complete  mastery  over  the  will.  Thus  drunkenness 
as  a  passion  begins  with  the  natural  gratification  we  derive 
from  assuaging  our  thirst.  This  gratification  is  heightened 
when  that  which  we  drink  has  also  the  effect  of  stimulating 
and  exhilarating  the  mind.  The  oftener,  therefore,  this 
act  of  exhilaration  is  repeated,  the  stronger  the  tendency 
becomes  to  do  so ;  and  at  last,  when  the  accumulation 
of  residua  impelling  us  to  the  act  of  enjoyment  becomes 


2  5  o  Philosophical  Fragmenls, 

greater  than  those  which  lead  us  to  self-control,  then  intem- 
perance enjoys  its  triumph,  and  we  are  rendered  mcapable 
of  resisting  the  passion  thus  acquired. 

It  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  go  through  any  long  catalogue 
of  the  passions  to  verify  this  analysis.  But  if  we  were  to 
take  them  all  one  by  one,  if  we  were  to  examme  the  pheno- 
mena actually  presented  by  avarice,  ambition,  jealousy,  love, 
hatred,  gambling,  and  the  like,  we  should  feel  that  they  all 
begin  in  some  feeling  of  gratification,  more  or  less  intense, 
as  the  case  may  be,  and  are  built  up  by  the  accumulation 
of  mental  residua,  which  become  more  powerful  exactly  in 
proportion  as  they  are  multiplied  by  the  frequency  with 
which  they  are  repeated.  So  strong  do  these  accumulated 
influences  at  last  become,  that  they  even  impel  to  action 
when  all  the  freshness  and  zest  of  the  pleasure  which  the 
passion  at  first  afforded  has  passed  away.  . 

The  great  point  in  education  as  regards  the  passions  is  to 
prevent  their  unnatural  growth  from  the  very  beginning. 
This  will  much  depend  upon  giving  an  abundance  of  healthy 
occupation,  rational  enjoyment,  and  pure  moral  impulses. 
Where  these  natural  and  lawful  impulses  are  not  supplied, 
the  mind  will  be  sure  to  fall  back  upon  artificial  stimulants 
of  some  kind.     Hence  the  severe  and  mistaken  policy  of 
withholding  from  the  young  and  ardent  mind  all  the  natural, 
simple,  and  innocent  pleasures  of  life,  will  almost  inevitably 
lead  that  mind  to  build  up  other  gratifications  until  they 
issue  in  the  most  imperious  passions.     What  those  passions 
are,  will  depend  greatly  upon  the  natural  dispositions  of  the 
individual   and   the   circumstances    which   surround    him. 
But  no  mind  can  remain  2. perfect  blank  to  all  human  enjoy- 
ment; and  where  no  proper  enjoyments  are  afforded,  noxious 
ones  will  grow  up,  even  as  the  weeds  which  encumber  a 
neglected  and  ill-cultivated  soil. 

But  where  strong  and  unhealthy  passions  are  already 
formed,  they  may  still  be  softened  down  and  perhaps  eradi- 
cated by  rational  treatment.  What  that  treatment  is  niay  be 
seen  by  the  law  of  the  action  and  reaction  of  ideas,  viz.  this :— - 
That  everything  we  hold  in  our  memory  ts  gradually 
weakened  by  all  the  other  dissimilar  ideas  which  occupy 
the  consciousness. 


Lecture  II L 


251 


Every  one  has  experienced  how  those  things  which 
we  have  even  most  strongly  impressed  upon  us,  fade 
away  from  the  memory  when  there  is  nothing  to  remind  us 
of  them.  Supposing  some  harassing  thought  haunts  us, 
and  occupies  the  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else. 
Were  there  no  provision  for  freeing  the  mind  from  such 
spectres  of  its  own  imagination,  life  itself  would  become  a 
burden  too  heavy  to  bear.  The  mental  process,  however, 
by  which  these  harassing  thoughts  are  removed,  is  at  hand. 
We  are  surrounded  by  circumstances.  Men,  things,  human 
life,  nature — all  present  themselves  at  every  turn  to  our  senses. 
For  an  idea  to  be  strong  enough  to  take  full  possession  of 
the  mind,  it  must  also  be  strong  enough  to  overcome  all 
these  resisting  forces.  And  for  a  time,  perhaps,  it  does  over- 
come them  ;  but  in  overcoming  them  it  loses  an  equivalent 
portion  of  its  own  strength  and  vigour,  until  at  length  it 
becomes  unequal  to  the  task  of  keeping  the  uppermost 
place,  and  sinks  down  beneath  the  surface  of  consciousness, 
allowing  the  current  of  other  impressions  to  ripple  over  it. 
Thus,  however  strong  an  impression  may  be,  it  cannot  long 
challenge  the  mind's  whole  attention.  It  is  eaten  away,  if 
we  may  so  speak,  by  innumerable  minor  objects  of  interest, 
and  our  ordinary  equilibrium  is  again  restored. 

Now,  exactly  the  same  principle  will  hold  good  in  rela- 
tion to  the  passions.  So  long  as  surrounding  circumstances 
tend  io  feed  them  and  keep  them  alive^  they  will  only  gain 
increasing  strength.  But  remove  those  circumstances,  and 
surround  the  mind  with  other  impressions,  insinuate  other 
desires,  provide  new  impulses  of  a  better  description,  occupy 
the  feelings  and  sentiments  with  new  objects  of  interest,  and 
the  most  absorbing  passions  will  gradually  wear  away  ;  and 
if  the  process  be  carried  on  with  sufficient  care  and  con- 
tinuity, almost  a  perfect  substitution  of  the  one  for  the  other 
will  in  the  end  be  effected. 

But  while  there  are  passions  which  require  to  be  repressed^ 
there  are  other  emotions  of  an  ennobling  character  which 
the  educator  should  carefully  cherish  and  unfold.  These  are 
the  natural  sympathies,  the  aesthetic  emotions,  the  moral 
sentiments,  and  the  religious  feelings.  There  is  one  prin- 
ciple which  applies  alike  to  all  these  classes   of  mental 


2  52  Philosophical  Fragments, 

phenomena,  viz.  that  they  are  to  ^^  /trengthened  not  by 
precept,  but   by  exercise  and  exaynple.     Let   me   taRe   an 
fn  tan';  of  wha't  I  mean  from  the  P--Pt-n  of^^^^^ 
hirmonv  a  case  that  is  valuable  for  illustration  from  tne 
cleaCs's  of  Saration  which  exists  between  the  perceptu.^ 
itself  and  intellectual  theory  which  explains  .t.    I' '  "°  "J  °"^ 
enough  that  a  great  difference  exists  bet^veen  '"d  viduals  as 
to  their  power  of  appreciating  musical  sounds ;   and  this 
dlfflrence  is  expressed  in  common  language  by  referring  it  to 
wfris  ca/^ed  a'  good  or  a  bad  ear.     Now,  where  a  good 
ear  exists  we  know  well  that  it  does  not  depend  at  all  upon 
Tny  theoretical  knowledge  either  of  music  in  general  o^ 
the  laws  of  harmony  in  particular ;  it  depends  upon  an 
th^Z  or  a  /.«,w/musi^l  suscepHMlity  which  no  mere  ex 
planatory  teaching  canever  produce.    Exactly  so  on  the  other 
side  when  an  imperfect  musical  ear  exists,  it  can  never  be 
mp  oved  or  rendered  more  capable  of  appreciating  harmony 
by  any  amount  of  study  applied  to  the  theory  of  mjic  and 
the  laws  of  thorough  bass.     All  such  study  appUed  to  the 
intellectual  or  scientific  side  of  the  question  would  leave  the 
"r  exactly  where  it  was  at  first.     If  we  w^nt  really  to 
cultivate  the  ear  and  supply  the  defects  under  wh'ch  it  labour 
it  must  be  done  by  practical  training.     Correct  tones  precise 
intervals,  simple  harmonies,  must  be  brought  to  bear  upon 
i"    ^nd  hus  by  examples  and  by  practice  the  musical  power 
can  iTe  gradually  increased,  and  the  want  of  accurate  percep- 
tions rectified.     And  exactly  so  it  is  with  all  Ae  cla  ses  of 
emotions  above  referred  to.     Sympathy  will  not  be  strengA- 
ened  by  mere  discourse  on  what  we  owe  to  our  fellow 
creatures,  and  the  duty  incumbent  on  us  to  have  a  fellow- 
feeUng  w  th  them  in  all  their  joys  and  sorrows;  .t  is  only 
caUed^ut  bv  contact  with  human  life,  and  by  the  influence 
of  circumstances,  in  which  selfishness  is  repressed  and  the 
better  feelings  of  our  nature  brought  to  bear  upon  the  claims 
whkh  our  fellow-creatures  possess  upon  our  ktndness,  thought- 

^  The  ^sttTemotions,  again,  will  not  be  strengthened  by 
any  inculcation  of  a  theory  or  a  doctrine  respecting  the 
sublime  and  beautiful ;  they  will  only  be  really  cultivated  by 
actuaT  contact  with  what  is  sublime  and  beautiful  m  itself. 


Lecture  III. 


253 


Childhood  and  youth  should  be  surrounded,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, with  neatness,  good  order,  and  harmony  of  arrange- 
ment ;  it  should  be  made  familiar  with  forms  of  beauty 
either  in  nature  and  art,  and  the  sense  of  the  beautiful 
should  be  thus  early  instilled  by  quiet  contact  and  daily 
intuition.  Much  yet  remains  to  be  done  in  the  promotion 
of  good  taste  by  removing  what  is  sightless,  gaudy,  mis- 
shapen, and  inharmonious  out  of  the  way,  and  surrounding 
daily  life  more  than  we  yet  do  with  what  is  correct  and 
harmonious  in  colour  and  design.  The  use  of  art  as  an 
instrument  both  of  early  education  and  popular  improve- 
ment is  only  in  its  infancy,  and  is  assuredly  destined  to  take 
a  higher  place  than  it  has  yet  done  amongst  the  means  and 
appliances  of  human  progress. 

With  regard  to  moral  training,  the  illustration  taken  from 
music  is  again  perfectly  applicable.  There  is  just  the  same 
relative  difference  between  moral  feeling  and  moral  theories 
as  there  is  between  the  musical  ear  and  the  science  of 
harmony,  and  the  same  principle  holds  good  in  regard  to 
moral  training.  The  mere  exposition  of  moral  law,  of  duty, 
of  the  nature  of  conscience  and  the  basis  of  virtue,  may  be 
a  good  and  useful  intellectual  exercise,  but  it  does  not  go 
far  to  train  the  moral  feelings  or  inspire  a  love  for  virtue  and 
right.  This  has  to  be  done  mainly  by  the  methods  of 
practice  and  example.  If  we  want  to  preserve  the  youthful 
mind  from  accumulating  evil  incentives,  we  must  keep  far 
from  it  the  very  aspect  and  savour  of  vice,  whether  in  words 
or  in  actions ;  for  the  soul,  as  yet  free  from  contamination, 
will  be  deteriorated  by  contact  with  impurity  even  in  the 
shape  of  warning  and  counsel.  If,  on  the  other  side,  we 
want  to  inculcate  the  practice  of  right  and  virtue,  then  let  it 
be  shown  by  example — example  in  the  parent,  example  in 
the  teacher.  The  influence  of  a  good  and  blameless  life,  in 
which  there  is  exhibited  with  quiet  firmness  and  uniform  un- 
ostentation  the  love  of  justice  and  the  abhorrence  of  evil,  will 
do  more  in  the  way  of  real  moral  training  than  volumes  of  pre- 
cept and  folios  of  doctrine.  The  latter  may  add  to  our  intel- 
lectual grasp  of  the  subject,  but  the  former  alone  will  assist  in 
laying  up  those  special  residua  which  impel  to  moral  action, 
and  bend  the  will  and  the  sentiments  in  the  same  direction. 


2  54  Philosophical  Fragments. 

Lastly,  if  we  desire  to  cultivate  the  religious  feelings,  the 
same  principle  must  once  more  be  our  guide.     The  example 
and  the  practice  of  sincere  worship,  and  heartfelt  reverence 
for  the  unseen  and  the  eternal,  will  yield  fruits  of  religious 
vitality  where  all  mere  dogmatic  instruction  will  fall  dry 
and  barren  on  the  ground.     I  have  now  completed  the  pro- 
posed  summary  of  our  mental   phenomena,  which  were 
divided,  as  you  will  recollect,  into  the  three  classes  indicated 
bv  the  terms  intellect,  volition,  and  emotion.    To  go  through 
all  the  minor  variations  of  these  mental  states  would  require 
a  volume  in  place  of  the  brief  space  which  can  be  allotted 
to  it  in  the  present  lectures.     I  have  been  anxious  simply 
to  indicate  the  principles  which  lie  at  the  basis  of  our  mental 
development,  and  hint  very  briefly  at  the  methods  of  in- 
struction best  adapted  to  promote  it.  .        ^ 

There  are  one  or  two  points,  however,  of  some  importance 
still  remaining,  to  which  I  am  desirous  of  drawing  your 
attention  before  we  come  to  a  final  conclusion. 

One  of  these  points  is  what  we  may  term  the  doctnne  ot 

individuality,  .       ,  •  , 

Although  we  have  endeavoured  to  trace  the  mode  in  which 
intellectual  power  and  the  force  of  will  are  developed,  yet  it 
must  be  borne  in  mind  that  an  individuality  is  always  pre- 
supposed, without  which  no  intelligence  and  no  will  at  ail  is 
conceivable,  which  always  lies  in  the  background  as  the 
realistic  starting-point  of  all  mental  phenomena,  and  which 
maintains  a  marked  peculiarity  in  each  case  throughout  all 
the  phases  of  its  development.     We  may  term  this  starting- 
point  transcendental  (as  lying  beyond  the  bounds  of  actua 
experience),  but  it  is  none  the  less  real.    The  case  is  somewhat 
analogous  with  what  we  conclude  with  regard  to  the  varying 
phenomena  of  the  universe  itself     We  are  placed  in  the 
midst  of  the  vast  machinery  of  the  solar  system.     Human 
reason  has  succeeded  in   comprehending  that  system  so 
perfectly,  that  we  can  foretell  the  revolutions  of  the  heavenly 
bodies  to  the  fraction  of  a  second  of  time.     But  when  all 
this  calculation  is  accomplished,  the  question  still  remains. 
What  is  it  that  has  set  the  whole  in  motion,  and  whence 
has  the  force  expended  on  it  been  derived?     This  question 
is  likewise  transcendental.      It  lies  beyond  the  limits  ot 


Lecture  III. 


255 


human  experience ;  but  we  have  a  natural  belief,  confirmed 
by  a  universal  human  conviction,  that  the  universe  emanates 
from  a  divine  creative  power,  without  which  no  realistic 
starting-point  appears  conceivable  to  the  human  reason. 
So  it  is  that  we  are  situated  scientifically  in  relation  to  the 
motor  phenomena  of  the  animal  frame  and  the  intellectual 
phenomena  of  the  human  mind.  We  witness  the  flight  of 
the  insect,  the  gambols  of  the  young  colt,  the  activity  of  the 
schoolboy,  and  we  ask.  Where  is  the  origin,  where  the 
primary  impelling  power,  of  all  these  respective  complicated 
systems  of  movement  ?  The  question,  we  repeat,  is  transcen- 
dental. We  may  term  the  power  which  we  seek  for,  the  vital 
principle,  or  we  may  call  it  the  soul,  or  we  may  give  it  any 
other  name  we  please ;  but  the  source  of  motion  and  thought 
lies  without  the  bounds  of  human  experience,  and  we  can 
only  fall  back  upon  a  natural  belief,  confirmed  by  the  con- 
victions and  languages  of  all  mankind,  that  there  is  some- 
thing which  we  call  life,  or  something  which  we  call  the 
soul, — a  human  monad  in  which  we  believe,  though  we  can 
never  find  it — a  source  of  power,  of  intelligence  in  the 
individual,  which  no  chemistry  can  account  for,  and  no 
anatomy  ever  reveal. 

With  regard  to  this  human  monad,  this  individuality  which 
every  man  calls  self,  we  may  go  one  step  farther  and  say 
that  as  the  charm  of  nature  lies  in  its  infinite  variety,  so  the 
charm  of  humanity  lies  in  the  unending  diversity  of  character 
which  the  human  individual  presents.  Each  mind  has  its 
own  type  from  the  first  moment  of  creation,  and  that  type 
pervades  all  its  thoughts  and  actions,  preserving  a  distinctive 
hue  through  every  phase  of  circumstance  in  which  it  is 
placed.  If  this  be  so,  then  education  ought  to  have  for  its 
aim  not  to  fashion  all  minds  to  a  given  level  of  thought, 
action,  and  sentiment,  but  rather  to  develope  each  individu- 
ality, whatever  may  be  its  original  stamp,  to  its  full  bloom, 
and  give  it  its  full  play.  No  doubt  there  are  individualities 
so  strong  that  they  will  break  through  all  the  bounds  of 
custom,  habit,  or  instruction,  and  assert  themselves  in  the 
world.  But  these  are  comparatively  rare.  The  mass  of 
mankind  are  of  a  weaker  individual  type ;  their  genius  may 
be  overwhelmed  and  stifled  by  formality  on  the  one  hand, 


256 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


Lecture  III, 


257 


or  may  be  drawn  out  by  more  favourable  influences  on  the 
other.  It  is  important,  therefore,  for  us  to  know  what  kind 
of  circumstances  tend  to  develope  the  original  and  charac- 
teristic powers  of  the  mind,  and  what  influences  should  be 
avoided  as  tending  to  crush  and  obliterate  them. 

To  probe  this  question  to  its  base  would,  no  doubt,  be 
a  matter  of  great  difficulty ;  but  I  will,  at  any  rate,  bring 
forward  one  point  which  appears  to  me  to  bear  forcibly  on 
tha  subject. 

Of  all  the  instrumentalities  which  tend  to  mfluence  the 
development  of  every  human  mind,  there  is  none  of  greater 
weight  than  language.     Now  every  language  is  a  little  world 
of  ideas  in  itself.     The  language  of  every  people,  partly  from 
the  influence  of  race,  partly  historical  circumstances,  partly 
climate,  partly  isolation  from  other  countries,  acquires  a  cer- 
tain pecuUarity  which  colours  their  whole  mode  of  thought 
and  feeling.     '  Every  language,'  says  Humboldt,  *  regards  the 
universe  from  its  own  point  of  view.'     No  doubt  that  view 
is  the  reflex  of  the  national  mind;  but,  once  formed,  it  reacts 
so  strongly  upon  future  generations  as  more  or  less  to  mould 
them  into  an  intellectual  pattern  of  its  own.    With  exception 
of  purely  technical  terms,  there  are  absolutely  no  equivalents 
and  synonyms  between  one  language  and  another.      All 
moral  and  intellectual  ideas  possess,  amongst  every  separate 
people,  a  hue  of  their  own  that  is  reflected  in  the  words  by 
which  they  are  expressed.     Now,  the  native  tongue  of  every 
individual  is  the  natural  organ  by  which  he  learns  to  think. 
Its  words,  phrases,  idioms,  are  the  original  moulds  in  which 
his  ideas  are  cast ;  and  his  whole  intellectual  development 
is  at  first  guided  by  the  whole  spirit  of  the  language  in  which 
alone  he  can  express  his  thoughts  or  feelings,  or  hear  them 
expressed  by  others.     Thus,  in  process  of  time,  language 
and  thought  become  so  blended  that  the  one  can  be  made 
to  express,  in  the  hands  of  a  ready  and  eloquent  speaker, 
all  the  varied  tones  of  feeling  and  minute  shades  of  idea 
which  pass  across  the  mind.     Here,  then,  it  is  that  the 
mind's  individuality  comes  out.     We  see  it  in  strength  of 
language,  in  pith  and  point  of  expression,  in  happy  terms 
of  phraseology,  in  the  power  of  moulding  words  to  all  the 
peculiarities  of  the  mental  nature  of  the  individual.     The 


same  thing  appears  in  style,  where  originality  is  the  very  life 
of  a  national  literature.  Where  style  is  a  mere  imitation  of 
former  models,  however  perfect,  there  is  no  vitality,  no 
vigour,  no  flashes  of  national  genius.  A  real,  living,  and 
productive  literature,  which  tells  upon  the  people  and 
moulds  its  ideas,  only  exists  when  some  original  genius 
seizes  upon  the  popular  language,  makes  it  plastic  to  his 
touch,  throws  the  burning  thoughts  of  the  age  into  new 
and  telling  forms,  and  thus  makes  his  own  individuality 
tell  upon  the  real  inner  life  of  the  masses  which  surround 
him. 

To  do  this  a  man  requires  a  great  mastery  of  his  native 
tongue ;  he  requires  that  it  shall  become  to  him  a  perfect 
organ  of  expression,  and  be  so  intimately  blended  with  his 
thoughts  and  feelings  as  to  respond  to  his  touch  like  an 
instrument  to  the  hand  of  the  consummate  musician. 

Now  the  question  comes.  Can  this  power  of  expression, 
this  faculty  of  throwing  out  all  the  originality  of  each  mind 
into  words,  be  fostered  by  a  good  method  of  education  on 
the  one  hand,  or  hindered  by  a  bad  method  on  the  other. 
I  have  a  strong  conviction  that  both  these  questions  can  be 
answered  in  the  affirmative.  It  appears  to  me  quite  evident, 
as  I  before  remarked,  that  every  scholar  should  become 
thoroughly  well  acquainted  with  his  own  tongue,  that  he 
should  enter  into  the  full  spirit  of  it  and  make  it  the  great 
organ  by  which  his  habits  of  thought  are  moulded,  before 
he  enters  on  the  study  of  other  modern  languages.  There 
is  a  notion  widely  spread,  particularly  amongst  the  higher 
classes  in  our  country,  that  great  advantages  are  to  be 
derived  from  giving  children  the  habit  of  speaking  two  or 
three  languages  almost  from  their  infancy.  It  is  argued, 
plausibly  enough,  that  children  can  learn  a  foreign  tongue 
without  any  trouble,  by  beginning  early  and  picking  it  up 
spontaneously  as  they  pick  up  their  own ;  that  in  this  way 
there  is  secured  a  great  saving  of  time  in  after  life,  and  a 
much  greater  facility  in  acquiring  both  the  pronunciation 
and  the  idiom.  It  is  little  considered  by  those  who  argue 
in  this  way  what  a  confusion  and  blurring  of  thought,  as  we 
before  showed,  is  sure  to  follow  from  such  a  method.  In- 
stead of  possessing  one  clear,  definite  idiom  in  which  to 

• 

R 


258 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


) 


express  themselves,  instead  of  having  one  homogeneous 
organ  as  the  medium  by  which  they  learn  to  think  and 
speak,  the  mind  is  confused  by  a  variety  of  words  and 
phrases   which   answer  to   no   sharply  -  defined   and  well- 
impressed  ideas.     No  man  can  be  really  pointed,  pithy, 
and  original  except  in  his  own  native  tongue;  and  to  what- 
ever extent  he  divides  his  power  of  expression  from  child- 
hood between  that  tongue  and  others,  into  the  full  spirit  of 
which  he  can,  at  best,  but  imperfectly  enter,  to  that  extent, 
I  believe,  he  destroys  his  power  of  originality,  and  renders 
his  habits  of  thought  loose  and  desultory.     I   have  had 
unequivocal  testimonies  from  teachers  as  to  the  difficulty 
they  have  experienced  in  dealing  with  pupils  whose  earliest 
life  has  been  subjected  to  these  influences.    Nor  do  I  believe 
tiiat,  if  we  examine  the  history  and  literature  of  bilingual 
peoples   or  nations,  we   shall   ever   find   there   the   same 
freshness,  vigour,  and  originality  which  we  find  in  those 
whose   modes   of  expression   are   perfectly  homogeneous. 
The  modem,  like  the  ancient,  languages  may,  indeed,  be 
made  a  fruitful  instrument  of  mental  training  if  rightly  used  ; 
but  their  use  as  an  organ  of  communication  and  expression 
should  be  deferred  until  the  habits  of  thought  are  well 
formed,  and  the  spirit  of  our  native  tongue  has  taken  full 
possession  of  the  mind. 

Another  question  closely  related  to  this  is,  how  far  it 
conduces  to  the  development  of  national  genius  to  build  up 
all  our  higher  education  upon  a  long  and  laborious  training 
in  the  languages  and  the  literature  of  Greece  and  Rome. 
While,  on  the  one  side,  we  cannot  doubt  but  that  Greek 
and  Latin  present  a  wonderful  instrument  of  logical  culture, 
it  can  hardly  escape  us  that  the  most  remarkable  produc- 
tions of  literary  productivity  do  not  usually  proceed  from 
our  great  seats  of  learning,  but  rather  from  the  more  obscure 
walks  of  life,  where  the  education  has  been  more  exclusively 
national  Shakespeare,  Burns,  Chades  Dickens,  men  who 
are  representative  of  their  respective  eras,  are  types  of  genius, 
nurtured,  like  the  Greeks,  in  home  culture,  not  in  the  culture 
of  ancient  or  foreign  tongues.  So  in  Germany  we  do  not 
find  the  representative  men  of  the  nation  coming  out  of  the 
national  Universities,  replete  with  the  lore  which  those  famous 


l! 


1-! 


»! 


I 


Lecture  II L 


259 


seats  of  learning  cultivate  and  instil.  Goethe,  Schiller, 
Jean  Paul,  Korner,  Uhland,  Freilegrath,  and  many  others 
of  the  same  stamp  were  scarcely  any  of  them,  technically 
speaking,  scholars — that  is,  men  of  great  acquirements  in 
ancient  and  classical  Hterature.  They  were  rather  the  ex- 
ponents of  the  Zeitgeist  and  the  Volksgeist,  such  as  their 
age  and  their  country  had  evolved  them.  It  may  therefore 
well  be  a  point  worthy  of  great  consideration,  whether  an 
exclusively  classical  education  is  not  adapted  rather  to 
extinguish  than  to  promote  native  and  original  genius,  and 
whether  the  individuality  of  every  country  would  not  stand 
a  better  chance  of  steady  development  if  a  greater  national 
element  were  to  enter  into  the  basis  of  popular  education. 
English  for  the  English,  German  for  the  Germans,  French 
for  the  French — this  might  not,  after  all,  be  a  bad  motto 
in  education.  Not  that  we  would  advocate  the  abandon- 
ment of  classical  studies,  as  this  would,  no  doubt,  be  only 
running  into  an  opposite  extreme.  All  we  contend  for 
is,  that  the  spontaneous  genius  which  springs  up  amongst 
every  people  should  not  be  stifled  and  overlaid  by  an  exces- 
sive deference  to  classical  models,  but  should  have  free 
scope  to  expand  itself  in  a  genial  atmosphere  of  purely 
national  culture. 

This  is,  in  fact,  only  an  application  of  the  principle  which 
Froebel  announced,  and  which  he  spent  most  of  his  life  to 
realize — namely,  that  the  education  of  a  mind  must  be 
regarded  under  the  analogy  of  the  development  of  an 
organism.  Just  as  a  tree,  for  example,  grows  out  of  a 
central  point,  namely,  the  seed ;  just  as  all  the  nutriment  it 
receives  from  without  must  enter  through  the  root  and  be 
assimilated  before  the  organism  can  expand  into  all  the 
luxuriance  of  branch  and  leaf,  flower,  blossom,  and  fruit ; 
so,  also,  the  human  mind  must  be  unfolded  from  a  central 
germ,  viz.  its  own  inward  individuality,  and  all  the  appliances 
of  learning  must  be  assimilated  into  that  individuality  before 
it  can  bear  the  blossom  and  fruit  of  a  full  and  perfect  spiritual 
development.  A  vast  deal  of  what  we  term  human  learning 
is,  after  all,  mere  useless  lumber,  which  lies  like  a  dead 
weight  on  the  spirit,  and  blocks,  instead  of  enhancing,  the 
natural  activity  of  the  inner  faculties.      Food  must  be 


26o 


Philosophical  Fragm€7iis. 


digested  and  assimilated  before  it  can  nourish  the  body, 
and  undigested  food  must  be  got  rid  of,  under  pam  of  its 
encumbering  and  impeding  the  health  functions  of  life.  Just 
so  must  all  outward  instruction  be  so  received  as  to  enter 
into  the  mind's  own  substance  and  texture,  and  come  out 
again  with  the  stamp  of  our  own  individuality  upon  it. 
And  here  we  leave  our  subject  for  the  present,  hoping  that 
the  hints  scattered  through  the  preceding  pages  may  prove 
useful  in  drawing  attention  to  a  subject  so  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  future  wellbeing  of  every  individual,  and 
the  future  greatness  and  prosperity  of  our  national  life. 


ii 


POSTSCRIPTUM. 
On  the  Latest  Phase  of  Edward  von  Hartmann's  Philosophy. 

SINCE  the  above  chapter  on  modern  German  philosophy 
was  written,  the  name  of  Edward  von  Hartrnann  has 
obtained  a  celebrity  in  his  native  country  which  can  only  be 
paralleled  by  those  of  Kant,  Fichte,  Schelling,  and  Hegel. 
The  Philosophie  des  Unbewussten  was  published  first  in  the 
year  1869,  and  fairly  took  the  mind  of  Germany  by  storm. 
Schopenhauer  was  beginning  to  grow  flat,  stale,  and   un- 
profitable :  he  had  been  too  many  years  in  the  field ;  but 
here  at  last  was  a  new  philosophy — a  new  Standpunkt^  a 
new    Welta^chauung,     And  what  a   Weltanschauung!     A 
mysterious   principle   called  ^  the  unconscious^  it  appeared, 
had  now  become  sole  lord  and  king  of  the  universe.     All 
the  wonders  of  physical  life,  all  the  promptings  of  instinct, 
all  the  hidden  fires  of  soul  and  genius,  all  the  springs  of 
thought  and   feeling,  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  love, — 
nay,  all  the  sources   of  human   history,  and   the   solemn 
march   of  the  universe  itself — all   alike,  it    was   aflfirmed, 
spring  out  of  *  the  unconscious.^     The  absolute  Ich  of  Fichte, 
the  Subject-object  of  Schelling,  the  Logical  Idea  of  Hegel, 
the   Will  of  Schopsnhauer,  and  the  God  of  Christianity, 
were   all   alike   dethroned,   and   the    Unbewusste    reigned 
supreme !     And    who    was    the    discoverer  of  this  new 
Weltanschauung  1    Was  it  some  hoary-headed  philosopher 
who  had   shut  out   the   world    from    his    thoughts,   and 
pondered  over  the  mystery  of  existence  until  the  hidden 
things  became  plain,  and  '  the  unconscious  '  rose  up  before 
him  in  all  its  majesty !     No ;   nothing  of  the  sort.     The 
author  was  a  young  nobleman  who  had  entered  the  army  in 

261 


t 


262 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


early  life,  and  had  been  driven  into  home  and  solitude  by  a 
physical  infirmity  which  prevented  the  further  pursuit  of 
arms.  And  now,  behold !  before  he  has  seen  thirty  summers, 
he  solves  the  problem  of  existence,  and  *  the  unconscious  ' 
becomes  the  idol  of  the  day.  Whether  that  idol  was  actu- 
ally worshipped  by  any  of  the  enthusiastic  students  or  fair- 
haired  maidens  who  pondered  over  it  in  secret,  or  whether 
any  enthusiastic  disciple  imitated  the  Athenians  in  raising 
an  altar  to  the  Unknown  God,  I  am  unable  to  say;  but 
assuredly  it  was  discoursed  of  in  all  the  learned  coteries 
and  aesthetic  saloons  of  the  country,  forced  its  way  into  the 
professor's  lecture-rooms  in  every  German  University,  was 
discussed  in  every  literary  journal,  and  enjoyed  a  popularity 
which  ensured  the  issue  of  seven  editions  in  hardly  so 
many  years. 

But  'the  unconscious'  was  not  to  assume  its  authority 
unchallenged.  A  sharp  incisive  criticism  in  Fichte's  Zeit- 
schrift  pressed  upon  the  author  to  explain  how  he  could 
acquire  and  certify  his  knowledge  of  *  the  unconscious ; ' 
for  if  he  is  unconscious  of  it,  how  can  he  know  it?  To 
know  a  thing  is  to  be  conscious  of  it ;  and  to  be  conscious 
of  the  unconscious  seems  to  be  something  very  much  like 
a  contradiction  in  terms.  Herr  von  Hartmann,  however, 
unlike  the  philosophers  of  the  last  age,  had  followed  the 
inductive  method  of  research,  and  illustrated  his  doctrines 
by  abundant  references  to  physiology  and  the  natural 
sciences.  He  was  not  therefore  to  be  put  down  by  meta- 
physical Wortspiel,  but  appealed  to  solid  facts — facts  in 
nature,  facts  in  science,  facts  in  history,  to  maintain  his 
position.  This  being  the  case,  some  of  the  professors  of 
physiology  and  natural  science  naturally  took  up  the 
challenge,  and,  with  an  amount  of  learning  in  these  de- 
partments far  superior  to  what  the  author  himself  possessed, 
reduced  his  methods  of  analysis  to  comparatively  small 
proportions.^  More  particularly  was  this  accomplished  by 
an  appeal  to  the  discoveries  of  Darwin,  according  to  which 
it  became  evident  that  most  of  the  phenomena  connected 
with   the   reflex  actions  of  the  nervous  system,  with  the 

1  See  particularly  Oscar  Schmidt's  critique,  entitled,  Die  Naturwis- 
senschaftlich^n  Gntndlagen  der  Philosophic  des  Unbewussten. 


% 


i 


Edward  von  Hartmann  s  Philosophy,     263 

marvels  of  instinct  and  the  anomalies  of  human  feeling  and 
human  genius,  which  Hartmann  had  drawn  at  first  hand  out 
of  the  depths  of  the  unconscious,  are  in  fact  only  hereditary 
powers  and  tendencies  perfectly  accounted  for  by  the  prin- 
ciple of  natural  selection. 

The  most  remarkable  of  all  these  criticisms,  however,  ap- 
peared in  1876  in  a  separate  and  anonymous  work,  entitled, 
Das  Unhewusste  vom  Standpunkt  der  Physiologie  und 
Descendenztheorie — i.e.,  *The  Unconscious  from  the  point  of 
view  of  Physiology  and  the  Theory  of  Descent.'  In  this  book 
the  conclusions  of  Hartmann  were  confronted  all  along  the 
line  with  the  Darwinian  doctrines,  and  driven  out  of  one 
stronghold  after  another  until  they  found  a  last  refuge  in 
the  metaphysical  region  alone.  But  who  could  this  un- 
known author  be,  who,  without  actually  dethroning  the 
reigning  idol,  drove  him  from  the  greater  part  of  his  do- 
minions, until  he  was  fain  to  take  refuge  in  the  cloudland 
of  metaphysics,  and  there  only  assert  his  authority  ?  The 
problem  was  soon  solved;  for  in  1877  came  out  another 
and  enlarged  edition  of  the  critique,  with  the  author's  name 
attached,  from  which  it  appeared  that  the  censor  of  Edward 
von  Hartmann  was  no  other  than  Edward  von  Hartmann 
himself !  The  whole  rise  and  progress  of  this  newest  phase 
of  German  speculation  is,  in  fact,  so  remarkable  that  we  may 
well  be  excused  for  devoting  a  special  postscript um  to  its 
further  elucidation. 

Let  us  first  try  to  get  a  correct  idea  of  the  system  m  the 
form  in  which  it  was  first  of  all  propounded.  To  do  this  we 
must  go  back  to  Kant,  as  forming  the  real  starting-point  of 
all  the  modern  speculation  of  Germany.  Kant's  attempt 
to  define  the  scope  and  limit  of  the  human  reason,  ended 
in  the  conviction  that  our  knowledge  can  only  extend  to  the 
phenomenal  world,  and  that  the  reality  which  lies  behmd 
phenomena — \}cv^  Ding  an  Sich—zzxi  never  be  reached  by 
any  process  of  knowing  which  the  mind  of  man  is  in  pos- 
session of.  Notwithstanding  this  conclusion,  the  succeed- 
ing philosophy,  as  though  attracted  by  the  very  idea  of 
forbidden  territory,  chiefly  strove  to  solve  the  very  problem 
which  Kant  had  declared  insoluble.  Fichte  explamed  the 
universe  from  a  purely  subjective  point  of  view,  makmg  the 


f 


; 


264 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


mind — '  the  me ' — the  human  personality,  the  fundamental 
principle  of  all  things — a  principle  revealed  to  us  in  our 
individual  self-consciousness.  Schelling  turned  the  medal 
with  its  objective  side  upwards,  and  showed  all  the 
phenomena  both  of  our  inward  self  and  of  external  nature  to 
be  manifestations  of  '  the  absolute/  mind  and  nature  being 
here  united  in  their  primary  and  identical  essence.  Hegel 
fixed  his  gaze  upon  the  process  of  thought  itself,  and  made 
this  synonymous  with  the  process  of  the  world.  Schopen- 
hauer regarded  will  as  the  type  and  ground  of  all  being — 
the  human  will  constituting  the  fundamental  essence  of  the 
human  personality,  and  the  powers  of  nature  being  only 
another  form  of  an  absolute  will  that  constitutes  the  real 
basis  of  the  universe  itself 

These  doctrines  were  all  thrown  out  upon  the  world 
during  what  may  be  termed  the  speculative  age  of  Germany, 
— an  age  in  which  the  national  life,  politically  considered, 
was  at  its  lowest  ebb,  and  the  intellect  of  the  country  loved 
to  nourish  itself  on  abstractions.  But  they  could  none  of 
them  long  survive  the  renaissance  of  the  national  vitality. 
As  systems  of  thought,  they  had  their  day,  and  passed  out 
of  sight,  except  as  forming  interesting  pages  in  the  history 
of  philosophy.  It  would  augur  a  very  false  estimate,  how- 
ever, of  this  whole  phase  of  intellectual  activity  were  we 
to  suppose  that  the  whole  influence  of  such  systems  as  those 
above  mentioned  pass  away  with  them.  They  all  leave 
their  mark  in  some  form  or  other  upon  the  world  of  thought, 
and  all  prepare  the  way  for  some  new  system  in  which  their 
net  results  may  be  again  embodied.  Down  to  the  time  of 
Kant,  the  philosophy  of  Germany  was,  strictly  speaking, 
THEiSTic.  No  wTiter  of  any  consequence  attributed  the 
creation  and  preservation  of  the  universe  to  any  other  than 
a  personal  Creator  and  a  moral  Ruler,  infinitely  wise  and  good. 
Kant,  it  is  true,  gave  up  the  speculative  arguments  for  the 
being  of  a  God,  but  held  the  moral  grounds  of  our  faith  in 
this  great  truth  amply  sufficient  and  conclusive.  But  in  the 
post-Kantian  age  all  this  became  changed.  Fichte's  sub- 
jective philosophy  drew  down  upon  him  the  charge  of 
atheism^  which  he  was  never  able  logically  to  rebut. 
Schelling  and  Hegel  made  ample  use  of  the  name  of  God, 


t 


I 


Edward  von  Hartmanns  Philosophy,     265 

but  always  in  a  pantheistic  sense.  From  this  time,  accord- 
ingly, the  atheistic  conception  of  the  universe  became 
familiar  to  the  speculative  mind,  and  tacitly  influenced  all 
the  springs  of  popular  belief 

The  progress  of  natural  science  tended  also  to  the  same 
practical  result.  In  proportion  as  the  reign  of  law  was 
seen  to  extend  into  the  most  intricate  regions  of  nature, 
and  the  causes  of  the  most  recondite  phenomena  were 
traced,  where  no  secondary  causality  had  before  been 
imagined,  the  operation  of  the  first  cause  was  mentally 
driven  farther  and  farther  from  us,  and  the  hand  of  God, 
which  before  was  seen  operating  all  around,  receded  into 
the  infinite  distance.  All  this  naturally  paved  the  way  for 
a  philosophy  which,  avoiding  the  rugged  road  of  d,  priori 
speculation,  and  taking  its  starting-point  from  the  actual 
phenomena  of  the  world  around  and  within  us,  proceeded  to 
show,  how  all  the  facts  of  organic  nature,  of  mind,  of  human 
life,  of  the  universe  at  large,  spring  out  of  one  fundamental 
principle,  endowed  with  power  and  intelligence,  with  wisdom 
to  adapt  and  force  to  perform,  omnipresent  in  every  atom, 
and  omnipotent  in  every  act,  but  at  the  same  time  impersonal 
and  unconscious.  In  brief,  we  can  easily  trace  in  this  way 
the  antecedents  from  which  the  Philosophic  des  Unbewussten 
naturally  flowed,  and  the  causes  which  gave  it  so  sudden 
and  almost  unprecedented  a  popularity. 

The  most  direct  road  into  the  comprehension  of  the 
unconscious,  as  an  all-pervading  principle,  is  by  the  due 
consideration  of  design  in  nature.  In  design  we  see  the 
clear  foreshadowing  of  an  end  aimed  at,  and  the  properly- 
adapted  means  for  arriving  at  it.  Take  the  case  of  a  bird 
sitting  on  its  eggs.  Why  does  it  do  so  ?  Primarily,  because 
it  wishes  to  bring  out  its  offspring  into  the  world ;  second- 
arily, because  it  wishes  to  conserve  the  race.  But  no  one 
imagines  that  these  ends  are  consciously  in  the  mind  of  the 
bird ;  and  yet  it  has  manifestly  an  intelligent  purpose  in 
view,  and  adopts  perfectly  well-adapted  means  for  securing 
it  Here,  therefore,  there  is  a  clear  example  of  the  opera- 
tion of  '  the  unconscious,' — a  principle,  />.,  not  appearing 
in  consciousness  at  all,  but  known  only  by  its  effects. 

Having  thus  clearly  defined  and  grasped  his  principle  of 


266 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


the  unconscious,  Hartmann  begins  by  showing  its  operation 
in  our  physical  organization,  in  the  independent  actions 
of  the  spinal  marrow  and  ganglia,  in  the  operation  of  the 
motor  nerves  (which  unconsciously  to  ourselves  perform 
the  most  delicate  operations  necessary  to  our  life  and  well- 
being),  in  the  reflex  actions,  in  the  wonders  of  instinct,  in 
the  healing  powers  of  nature,  in  the  unconscious  influence 
of  the  mind  upon  the  body,  and  in  the  whole  plastic  force 
by  which  our  organisms  are  built  up. 

In  all  these  operations,  precisely  as  in  the  case  of  finil 
causes  or  design  in  nature  before  referred  to,  we  see  a  great, 
all-pervading,  unconscious  power,  guided  by  an  unerring 
intelligence,  and  operating  by  the  best  possible  means— an 
intelligence  which  does  not  stand  out  of  or  apart  from 
nature,  but  is  immanent  in  nature,  and,  though  hidden  away 
in  the  depths  of  unconsciousness,  is  always  sure  of  its 
purpose,  and  unfailing  in  its  choice  of  agencies  for  producing 
it.  We  need  not  enter  more  particularly  into  this  doctrine 
of  final  causes  at  present,  because,  as  we  shall  soon  see,  it 
breaks  down  under  the  light  of  the  Darwinian  disclosures, 
and  is  transformed  into  another  law,  in  which  the  whole  of 
the  teleological  principle  in  animal  life  virtually  disappears. 

Having  treated  of  the  unconscious,  as  it  operates  through 
the  whole  phenomena  of  organic  life,  Hartmann  proceeds  to 
what  he  terms  the  relative  unconscious— i.e.,  the  unconscious 
operations  of  the  human  mind,  as  seen  in  instinct,  in  the 
love  of  the  sexes,  in  the  feelings,  in  individual  character, 
in  artistic  productivity,  in   the  spontaneous   formation   of 
language,  in  association  of  ideas,  in  our  fundamental  con- 
ceptions, in  human  history  and  human  life.     In  all  these 
phenomena  of  the  human  mind,  there  is  a  conscious  and 
an  unconscious  element.     Our  instinctive  actions  appear  to 
flow  from  some  hidden  depth  of  our  nature,  which  we  cannot 
penetrate  by  the  light  of  reason ;  the  power  of  love  between 
the  sexes  rushes  upon  us  from  a  deep-seated   spring   of 
emotion  and  impulse,  which  reason  can  neither  comprehend 
nor   control ;    the  peculiarities  of  character,  which   every 
man  more  or  less  manifests,  come  to  him  he  knows  not 
how  or  whence,  but  come  they  do,  welling  upwards  from 
the  great  ocean  of  unconsciousness  into  the  light  of  day. 


Edward  vofi  Hartmann  s  Philosophy,     267 

Even  our  fundamental  ideas  and  our  associations  come  to 
us  all  spontaneously;  while,  turning  from  man  regarded 
individually  to  man  viewed  in  the  aggregate,  we  find 
language  producing  itself,  and  attaining  the  highest  forms  of 
power  and  beauty,  with  a  perfectly  unconscious  spontaneity, 
and  human  history  working  out  all  the  great  problems  of 
man's  existence,  on  a  plan  which  can  only  be  known  in  the 
retrospect,  when  well-nigh  all  the  agents  who  blindly  pro- 
duced it  have  passed  away  into  oblivion.  *  The  conscious 
reason  (as  our  author  expresses  himself)  is  only  negative, 
critical,  controlling,  directing,  comparing,  and  combining, 
but  never  creative,  productive,  inventive;  in  these  latter 
respects,  man  depends  wholly  on  the  unconscious,  and  if  he 
loses  the  unconscious,  he  loses  the  well-spring  of  his  life, 
and  has  to  drag  out  his  being  amidst  the  uniformities  of  the 
general  and  the  particular.  For  this  reason,  the  unconscious 
is  indispensable,  and  woe  to  the  age  which  forcibly  represses 
it  in  favour  of  conscious  intellect ;  for  it  must  then  fall  into 
a  mere  shallow  rationalism,  manifesting  itself  only  in  a 
childishly  senile  keenness  of  intellect,  like  what  appeared 
in  the  age  of  the  Aufkldrung.  Never  should  we  repress 
the  tender  germs  of  our  unconscious  inspirations,  but  listen 
to  them  with  pious  devotion,  and  nourish  them  with  a  loving 

phantasv.' 

But,  alas !  for  all  this  *  pious  devotion,'  the  relative  un- 
conscious turns  out  to  be  as  great  a  mistake  as  the  physical 
unconscious;  the  inexorable  march  of  the  Darwinian 
doctrines  shows  that,  so  far  from  there  being  a  quasi- 
unconscious  Deity  which  prompts  our  mental  instincts,  our 
higher  feelings,  our  individual  character,  our  artistic  flashes 
of  genius,  our  fundamental  ideas  and  the  whole  flow  of 
human  history,  all  these  things,  and  a  great  many  niore, 
are  fully  accounted  for  by  the  wonderful  law  of  hereditary 
transmission,  and  the  gradual  accumulation  of  power  in 
any  special  direction  under  the  force  of  natural  selection. 
The  doctrine  of  final  causes  thus  falls  to  the  ground,  and 
with  it  the  only  remaining  proof  of  the  existence  of  God. 

*  The  philosophy  of  the  unconscious  (says  the  author),  as 
being  the  last  possible  attempt  to  save  the  doctrine  of  final 
causes,  is  at  the  same  time  the  last  possible  attempt  to 


268 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


conserve  the  belief  in  a  God,  although  in  a  scientifically 
modified  form.  Theology  has  naturally  enough  not  been 
aware  of  this,  but  when  centuries  have  rolled  round, 
perchance  she  will  cite  the  "  philosophy  of  the  unconscious," 
as  the  last  prop  of  her  doctrines.  A  poet  of  the  future  will 
then  perhaps  sing  an  elegy  over  our  God-forsaken  world,  as 
Schiller  sang  the  God-forsaken  world  of  Hellas,  but  without 
even  wishing,  if  it  were  possible,  to  restore  the  lost,  by  a 
poetical  lament  over  the  vanished  charms  of  a  childish 
faith-world ;  for  science  will  have  been  still  marching  on, 
and  have  given  a  deeper  insight  into  nature,  and  proffered 
to  the  world  a  more  precious  boon  than  the  dreams  out  of 
which  it  so  ruthlessly  awoke  it.' 

I  will  now  attempt,  by  means  of  a  free  and  abridged 
translation  from  the  explanation  given  in  the  last  work  pub- 
lished by  Hartmann  {Das  Unbewusste  vom  Standpunkt  der 
Physiologie  und  Descendenztheorie,  2d  edition,  enlarged, 
Berlin,  1877),  to  convey  some  idea  of  the  system  of  philo- 
sophy developed  in  these  latest  utterances  of  the  author. 

NATURE  IN  RELATION  TO  MIND. 

Before  mind  begins  to  be  distincdy  conscious  of  itself,  it 
lives  for  itself.  The  satisfaction  of  their  purely  natural 
wants  is  the  great  aim  of  the  unreflecting.  This  finds  its 
end  in  the  family  and  in  the  state.  The  desire  for  gain, 
for  example,  has  its  end  in  the  comfort  of  family  life ;  the 
desire  for  honour,  in  the  furtherance  of  the  common  weal. 
It  is  therefore  his  living  for  the  purposes  of  mind  which 
gives  to  man  his  position  in  nature. 

But  so  soon  as  the  philosophic  consciousness  awakens, 
the  notion  comes  more  and  more  to  light,  that  man,  strictly 
considered,  lives  only  in  and  for  mind^  that  his  specific  life 
is  the  life  lying  within  the  sphere  of  his  consciousness,  and  this 
can  be  no  other  than  purely  mental.  Man  knows  imme- 
diately only  what  exists  in  his  own  consciousness  ;  he  feels 
nothing  but  his  own  feelings,  perceives  nothing  but  his  own 
perceptions,  thinks  nothing  but  his  own  thoughts.  The 
idealistic  philosophy,  indeed,  recognises  nature  only  as  a 
phenomenon  produced  by  mind,  which  is  different  for  every 
individual,  and  wholly  independent   of  the  consciousness 


Edward  vo7i  Hartmann  s  Philosophy.    269 

of  our  fellow-creatures.     From  this  point  of  view,  the  laws  of 
nature  can  be  no  other  than  the  laws  of  mind— laws,  i.e., 
by  which  the  mind  produces  for  itself  all  these  subjective 
phenomena ;  and  the  philosophy  of  nature  can  be  in  this 
case  only  one  department  of  the  philosophy  of  mind.     But, 
however  untenable  this  subjective  philosophy  has  now  shown 
itself  to  be,  there  is  one  truth  about  it  which  cannot   be 
gainsaid— namely,    that,   immediately   considered,  we   can 
only  know  our  own  mental  life.     On  the  other  hand,  every 
man's  natural  realism  has  its  own  justification  in  this,  that 
there  is  one  and  the  same  real  nature  for  all— one  which 
exists  and  acts  according  to  its  own  laws,  wholly  independent 
of  the  laws  of  mind.     Both  these  truths  are  united  in  the 
transcendental    realism   now   advocated,  which   maintains 
that  we  perceive  in  the  phenomenal  world  only  the  reflex 
of  nature  in  our  own  minds,  and  can  only  infer  the  con- 
stitution and  the   changes   of  nature  indirectly  from   the 
constitution  and  changes  of  our  own  consciousness.     This 
point  of  view  is  not  merely  the  only  tenable  one,  but  is  at 
the  same  time  the  only  workable  one  for  natural  philosophy, 
and  on   this  account   is  already  finding   wide   acceptance 
amongst  natural  philosophers  themselves. 

By  the  light  of  transcendental  realism,  the  conimon 
opinion  of  natural  philosophers— that  their  particular  science 
has  the  advantage  in  certitude  over  the  philosophy  of  mind, 
is  completely  shown  to  be  a  false  prejudice  appertaining  to 
common  everyday  realism  ;  for  we  well  know  that  nature— 
i.e.,  the  real  nature,  with  which  alone  science  has  to  do— is 
out  of  the  reach  of  our  consciousness,  and  can  never  be  the 
object  of  immediate  experience.  Every  utterance  of  natural 
philosophy  respecting  the  constitution  and  laws  of  nature, 
rests  upon  inferences  drawn  from  our  own  me?ital  experiences. 
On  the  contrary,  the  moral  sciences  need  not  relinquish  the 
sphere  of  immediate  experience  in  order  to  find  entrance  into 
their  own  peculiar  province.  Experience,  accordingly,  is 
not  only  the  foundation  of  the  moral  sciences  in  the  same 
sense  as  it  is  of  the  natural  sciences,  but  the  absolute 
certainty  of  immediate  experience  attaches  to  the  elements 
of  ihe  former,  just  in  the  same  way  as  the  latter  has  imagined 
it  incorrectly  to  belong  only  to  itself. 


2  70 


Philosophical  Fragments, 


MIND  AS  THE  KEY  TO  NATURE. 

What,  then,  is  this  *  nature '  thus  indirectly  revealed  to  us  ? 
A  great  fly-swarm,  here  thicker,  there  thinner ;  here  faster, 
there  slower — all  whizzing  through  each  other ;  and  the  flies 
are  extensionless  points  or  atoms.  Can  anything  be  drier, 
more  uninteresting,  more  uniform,  more  indifferent,  than 
this  ghostly  swarm  of  mathematical  points  ?  What  can  be 
poorer  than  such  a  stereometric  world — the  merest  abstrac- 
tion of  our  idea  of  quantity,  in  space,  time,  and  motion  ? 

That  which  first  gives  the  possibility  of  real  existence  to 
this  abstraction,  is  the  idea  oi  power,  which  converts  the 
dancing  atoms  from  mere  points  in  space  to  real  working 
individuals. 

If  we  now  consider  attentively  the  *  nature '  so  arrived 
at,  we  see  at  once  that  all  we  ascribe  to  it  consists  of  ideas 
carried  over  from  our  own  minds.  Reality,  existence,  sub- 
stance, etc.,  are  categories  by  which  we  think  ;  space,  time, 
motion,  are  forms  by  which  we  perceive.  We  should  never 
have  come  upon  the  idea  of  poiuer,  if  we  had  not  generalized 
our  own  will ;  and  the  very  idea  itself  is  unintelligible  unless 
we  tacitly  or  otherwise  lay  the  idea  of  will  at  the  basis.  Power 
and  sensation,  under  the  form  of  will  and  conception,  are 
the  elementary  ideas  of  mental  philosophy ;  and  if  it  is  they 
which  breathe  energy  and  life  into  the  abstract  space 
relations,  it  becomes  evident  that  we  can  only  conceive  of  a 
real  living  nature  after  the  analogy  of  our  own  minds.  If 
any  one  or  both  of  these  elements,  thus  borrowed  from  our 
own  minds,  are  lost  sight  of,  or  regarded  as  mere  anthropo- 
morphisms, then  there  is  really  no  nature  left,  and  the  so- 
called  philosophy  of  nature  must  be  thrown,  together  with 
alchemy,  astrology,  and  theology,  into  the  lumber  room  of 
mere  irrational  illusions. 

The  result  of  all  this  must  be  self-evident  to  every- 
philosopher  who  stands  upon  the  platform  of  transcendental 
realism.  No  one  can  get  out  of  his  own  skin.  If  nature 
is  to  us  something  mediate,  something  indirectly  inferred 
from  its  workings  upon  the  human  mind,  then  the  mind  can 
understand  nature  only  out  of  itself,  and  there  is  no  other 
key  to  the  comprehension  of  nature  but  the  mind. 


Edward  V07i  Hartmanns  Philosophy,     2  7 1 


NATURE  AS  MEDIUM  FOR  THE  MIND. 

What,  then,  is  the  significancy  to  us  of  nature,  which,  as 
we  said,  can  only  be  comprehended  by  the  analogy  of  mind  ? 
Can  a  dull,  colourless  play  of  atomistic  points  in  itself  have 
any  interest  for  us  ?  Must  we  not  rather  shrink  from  it  as 
from  a  ghostly  dance  of  death  ?  What  can  be  less  beautiful 
than  such  a  nature,  consisting  of  mechanical  operations 
carried  on  by  imaginary  points  of  extension  ?  Who  can  see 
the  glories  of  the  heaven  except  the  mind  ?  For  it  alone 
the  morning  ray  brightens ;  for  it  alone  the  flower  diffuses 
its  odour ;  for  it  alone  the  harp  makes  melody.  Real  nature 
exhausts  itself  in  the  uniform  dance  of  atoms,  and  all  the 
glory  which  the  enchanted  mind  attributes  to  nature  belongs 
to  itself ^i.e.,  to  the  glow  which  itself  calls  forth  and  creates 
as  the  subjective  phenomenal  world  of  its  own  conscious- 
ness. All  the  wonders  of  nature  which  the  poets  sing  are 
wonders  of  mind,  and  brought  forth  by  it  alone. 

Of  what  significance,  then,  to  us  is  nature  viewed  simply 
as  objectively  real?  It  would  be  of  no  significancy  unless 
it  were  through  its  agency  that  the  mind  is  aroused  to  the 
production  of  its  own  phenomenal  world,  and  thus  to  fill  the 
empty  forms  of  its  own  consciousness  with  all  the  riches 
of  what  it  afterwards  unfolds.  Just  as  the  electric  spark  is 
produced  from  the  contact  of  several  electric  substances,  so 
the  life  of  the  mind  results  from  its  connection  with  nature. 
It  is  nature  which  awakens  in  it  the  slumbering  spark  of 
self-consciousness,  and  brings  it  into  contact  with  other 
minds.  Consequently  it  is  not  vidXMx^  per  se  which  interests 
us,  but  nature  regarded  as  the  means  for  enriching  our 
mental  life.  It  is  the  mind,  indeed,  which  produces  in  itself 
the  beauty  and  fulness  of  its  own  subjective  life,  but  it  does 
not  produce  it  purely  out  of  itself ;  it  is  dependent  through- 
out upon  the  effect  which  nature  produces  upon  it.  The 
harmony  between  them  is  mutual.  But  nature  is  the  prius, 
the  pre-condition  of  mind.  Notwithstanding  that  she 
appears  so  bare  and  uninteresting  in  herself,  yet  it  is  her 
influence  which  draws  forth  the  spark  of  the  true,  the  beauti- 
ful, and  the  good  from  the  slumbering  soul. 

This  wonder  only  becomes  intelligible  on  the  supposition 


2/2 


Philosophical  Fragmenls, 


that  nature  is  formed  from  the  first  to  be  the  birthplace  and 
nursery  of  the  soul.  The  miracle  of  nature  is  only  explained 
on  the  principle  that  the  soul  has  unconsciously  there 
prepared  her  dwelling,  i.e.  on  the  principle  of  a  teleological 
philosophy  of  nature. 

This  necessity  of  a  teleological  exposition  becomes  all 
the  stronger  when  we  consider  that  the  unconscious  mind 
during  the  world  process  has  no  other  outlet  except 
through  the  function  of  atoms  ;  so  that  the  original  adapta- 
tion of  nature  for  the  production  of  the  wonders  of  the 
spirit  must  be  absolutely  perfect  and  all-sufficient,  and  not 
stand  in  need  of  any  immediate  co-operation  of  the  mind 
itself  or  any  extraneous  help. 

NATURE  AS  A  MANIFESTATION  OF  THE  ABSOLUTE  MIND. 

*  From  mind  through  nature  to  man ' — this  is  our  motto. 
Not  only  the  human  mind,  but  the  absolute  mind  is  like 
Peter  in  a  foreign  country,  so  long  as  it  is  imprisoned  in 
nature ;  it  struggles  to  be  free  from  the  bonds  of  nature. 
The  absolute,  Uke  the  individual  mind,  only  develops  at 
first  miserable  fragnients  of  the  infinite  riches  of  nature, 
which  lie  shut  up  in  its  unconsciousness. 

No  one  will  contest  that  all  which  comes  out  of  the 
Absolute  One  explicitly,  in  the  process  of  the  world's  develop- 
ment, has  been  contained  in  it  implicitly  from  eternity.  It 
is  the  very  fundamental  axiom  of  a  monistic  natural  philo- 
sophy, that  the  world-essence  or  substance  is  the  founda- 
tion of  all  conscious  as  well  as  unconscious  existence,  i.e. 
the  foundation  of  all  that  is  afterwards  unfolded  in  mind  as 
well  as  in  matter.  If  the  contents  of  the  world  of  conscious- 
ness are  ?een  to  be  infinitely  richer  than  that  of  the  world 
of  matter,  it  only  shows  us  that  The  Absolute  has  unfolded 
in  nature  but  a  very  subordinate  part  of  its  riches,  and 
reserved  its  own  highest  treasures  for  the  development  of 
mind.  If  we  regarded  nature  without  any  reference  to  mind, 
The  Absolute  would  certainly  exhibit  only  what  was  unspeak- 
ably poor  and  meaningless ;  while,  if  you  regard  nature  as  a 
medium  for  the  soul,  we  see  there  its  most  wonderful 
machinery,  which  fills  us  with  astonishment  the  more  we 
come  to  understand  its  whole  plan  of  operation. 


Edward  von  Hartmanns  Philosophy.    273 

Just  as  by  the  study  of  the  vibrations  of  the  atmosphere, 
or  of  the  ether,  we  seek  to  comprehend  the  causes  of  sound, 
light,  and  warmth,  so  also  we  can  conclude  that  by  the 
constitution  of  these  vibrations  the  world-spirit  has  given 
origin  to  the  means  necessary  for  producing  all  the  rich 
variety  of  the  soul's  subjective  impressions. 

Every  system  of  natural  philosophy  which  shuts  its  eyes 
to  this  truth,  and,  neglecting  these  relations  to  mind,  esti- 
mates nature  according  to  its  own  significancy,  must  of 
necessity  fall  into  grave  mistakes  and  a  one-sidedness  which 
distorts  the  true  relations  of  the  cosmic  spheres.  To  whatever 
extent  we  fail  to  establish  the  fullest  harmony  between  the 
philosophy  of  mind  and  the  philosophy  of  nature,  we  may 
be  certain  that  the  results  of  the  former  will  have  to  be 
corrected  by  those  of  the  latter,  and  not  vice  versd.  This 
follows  directly  from  the  fact  that  nature  is  known  to  us 
only  indirectly  through  the  mind,  while  the  mind  is  known 
to  us  immediately  ;  and  that  the  moral  sciences  have  the 
benefit  of  this  immediateness  of  experience  over  the  natural 
sciences,  and  therefore  possess  a  higher  degree  of  certitude. 
•  This  relation  of  the  two  sciences  evidences  itself  in  history, 
inasmuch  as  the  natural  sciences  have  received  no  more 
powerful  impulses  to  new  theories  and  developments  than 
those  derived  from  the  natural  philosophy  which  has  grown 
out  of  the  philosophy  of  mind,  and  based  itself  on  meta- 
physics. Thus  it  may  easily  happen  that  the  natural  sciences 
of  any  given  period  base  themselves  on  a  philosophy  which 
is  borrowed  from  an  obsolete  system  of  metaphysics.  At 
the  very  time  when  the  empiricism  of  Locke,  the  material- 
ism of  encyclopaedists,  and  the  rational  theism  of  Wolff 
represented  the  reigning  metaphysics  of  England,  France, 
and  Germany  respectively,  the  natural  sciences  in  all  three 
countries  were  carried  on  under  the  influence  of  obsolete 
scientific  ideas.  And  even  now,  although  the  modern 
German  metaphysicians  have  long  discredited  the  shallow 
rationalism  which  preceded  them,  the  natural  sciences 
remain  under  the  influence  of  that  same  sensualitic  system, 
and  are  only  just  beginning  to  recognise  the  Kantian  reform. 
But  to  the  metaphysicians  of  the  nineteenth  century  they 
hold  a  purely  reactionary  attitude,  and  strengthen  themselves 

S 


2  74  Philosophical  Fragments, 

in  this  attitude  by  an  appeal  to  the  science  of  other  countries, 
which  has  not  yet  got  beyond  the  ideas  of  the  eighteenth 
century. 

THEORETICAL  AND  PRACTICAL  IDEALISM. 

Our  specific  German  culture  of  this  present  day,  in  so  far 
as  it  transcends  that  of  other  nations,  rests  entirely  on  the 
metaphysics  of  the  nineteenth  century.     The  ethics  of  Kant 
and  Fichte,  the  philosophy  of  history  of  Hegel,  the  aesthetic 
and  historic  interpretations  of  Schelling,  the  natural  philo- 
sophy and  the  pessimism  of  Schopenhauer— these  are  the 
main  features  of  our  peculiar  German  culture,  on  which  the 
further  development  of  humanity  will  depend  for  the  imme- 
diate future.     If  a  reactionary  philosophy  of  nature  succeed 
in  destroying  these  elements  of  culture,  or  weakening  their 
energy  by   undermining  all  faith  in  them,  the  inevitable 
result  would  be  an  irreparable  loss  to  the  human  mind  in 
ideal  truth  ;  and  on  this  account  the  elevation  of  a  one-sided 
philosophy  of  nature  over  the  head  of  the  modern  idealistic 
philosophy  of  Germany,  would  not  only  be  a  grave  error, 
but   would  bring  with  it  a  great  practical  danger.     The 
theoretical  ignoring  of  the  true  relation  between  nature  and 
mind  must  necessarily  bring  with  it  a  damaging  result  as  to 
our  view  of  the  dignity  of  mind  in  its  relation  to  nature.     It 
is  the  duty,  therefore,  of  all  who  really  recognise  the  impass- 
able gulf  between  the  too  common  materialistic  view  of 
nature  and  the  noble  results  of  our  higher  ideal  culture,  to 
join  their  forces  against  these  attempts  to  master  the  spirit, 
by  the  undue  elevation  of  nature,  and  to  fight  the  battle  of 
mind  not  only  against  priestly  domination,  but  also  against 
the  desecration  of  the  universe  to  a  mere  mechanism. 

MECHANICAL  AND  IDEALISTIC  PHILOSOPHY  OF  NATURE. 

So  soon  as  the  above-explained  relation  between  mind 
and  nature  is  properly  comprehended,  the  understanding 
will  find  ample  cause  for  abandoning  its  mechanical,  nature- 
deifying  opposition  to  a  theoretical  and  objective  ideali'-m. 
If  nature  is  in  itself  a  thing  so  poor  and  unintelligent,  there 
is  no  wonder  if  a  philosophy  which  regards  nature  apart 
from  mind  becomes   embarrassed  when  it  discovers   the 


I 


I 


Edward  von  Hartmamis  Philosophy.    275 

same  ideas  in  both.  But  if  nature  is  merely  the'window  of 
the  soul,  or  the  medium  through  which  it  unfolds  un- 
conscious Being  into  consciousness,  we  only  need  regard  it 
as  the  machinery  adapted  for  this  purpose  in  order  to  see 
how  all  the  riches  of  the  mind  are  prefigured  and  prophesied 
by  it.  Then,  indeed,  nature  appears  full  of  significance, 
since  all  the  riches  of  the  world  of  mind  are  teleologically 
pre-represented  there.  It  is  here  quite  indifferent  whether 
all  the  phenomena  of  our  conscious  life  arise  irom  the 
hereditary  accumulation  of  brain  power,  or  whether  any 
psychical  functions  enter  into  it  which  are  not  contained 
in  the  brain  power  as  such.  At  any  rate,  nature  is  the 
instrumentality  for  the  development  of  the  mind  ;  and  so 
sure  as  objective  idealism  is  a  theory  which  evinces  itself 
with  perfect  certitude  in  every  mental  philosophy  which  is 
not  corrupted  by  a  false  view  of  nature,  so  certainly  must 
it  find  recognition  in  every  philosophy  of  nature,  just  in 
proportion  as  its  eyes  are  not  obstinately  closed  against  that 
true  relation  of  nature  to  mind  by  which  the  very  meaning 
or  significancy  of  nature  in  the  constitution  of  the  universe 

is  explained. 

It  is  a  vain  effort  any  longer  to  maintain  and  hold  up  the 
materialistic  natural  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
which  considers  mind  as  a  fortuitous  appendix  to  nature, 
of  no  further  interest  to  the  man  of  science,  instead  of  com: 
prehending  nature  as  the  organon  of  the  spirit.     Just  as 
vain  is  it,  on  the  other  hand,  to  fall  back  upon  Spinoza, 
whose  metaphysics,  as   being  the  first  enunciation  of  the 
principle  of  identity,  will  always  indeed  be  of  inestimable 
value,  but  who,  with  all  this,  had  no  glimpse  of  the  true 
relation  subsisting  between  mind  and  nature.     Inasmuch  as 
he  comprehended  nature  exclusively  under  the  category  of 
extension,  and  mind  under  that  of  thought,  passing  by  the 
power  of  will,  his  philosophy  of  nature  stiffened  in  a  mere 
system  of  mechanism,  and  his   philosophy  of  mind  to  a 
one-sided  intellectualism ;  so  that  nature  and  mind  stood 
virtually  unrelated   to   each   other.      He   thus   developed 
the  idea  of  identity  into  a  mere  abstract  unity  in  the  con- 
nection  and   order   of  thirds   in  nature,  and  of  ideas   in 
consciousness,  and  set  up  this  abstract  unity  in  place  of  a 


276 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


i 


real  and  living  action  and  reaction  the  one  upon  the  other. 
In  this  way  he  made  it  impossible  to  conceive  what  mind 
owes  to  nature  as  a  condition  of  its  development,  as  also 
the  reaction  of  mind  upon  nature,  and  thus  was  unable  to 
comprehend  the  whole  significancy  of  nature  as  the  medium 
for  the  realization  of  idea  in  the  light  of  consciousness. 

It  is  not  Spinoza  alone,  but  the  synthesis  of  Spinoza  and 
Leibnitz,  which  fashioned  the  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  If  the  science  of  the  nineteenth  century  wishes  to 
go  backwards  instead  of  forwards,  in  order  to  find  better 
supports,  it  must  borrow  from  Spinoza  only  the  fundamental 
idea  of  his  '  monism,'  or  doctrine  of  identity  ;  but  it  must 
borrow  from  Leibnitz  its  further  development,  for  it  was 
through  him  the  philosophy  of  Spinoza  gained  its  whole 
teleological  meaning.  If  it  really  does  this,  and  if  it 
interprets  the  monadology  of  Leibnitz  according  to  the 
light  of  our  present  scientific  progress,  it  will  then  come  to 
the  point  of  view  which  I  now  wish  to  represent,  and  which 
is  not  materially  altered,  but  only  enriched  on  the  side  of 
mental  science,  by  the  philosophical  development  of  Germany 
in  the  present  century. 

If  we  hold  fast  to  the  principle  that  nature  forms  the 
mediating  link  between  the  unconscious  undeveloped  mind 
on  the  one  side  and  the  conscious  developed  mind  on  the 
other,  then  we  grasp  two  facts  in  one — first,  that  nature 
does  not  contain  in  itself  its  own  significancy,  but  finds  it 
only  in  that  of  which  it  is  the  medium,  namely,  the  mind ; 
and  secondly,  that  the  mind  viewed  as  self-conscious  and 
matured  cannot  be  its  own  natural  medium.  If  we  fix  our 
eye  upon  the  latter  fact  without  taking  the  former  into 
account,  the  result  seems  altogether  materialistic ;  but  if 
we  consider  the  former  fact  in  connection  with  it,  then  the 
other  not  only  loses  its  materialistic  force,  but  tends  even 
to  the  opposite  extreme.  Natural  science  confines  itself 
entirely  to  the  task  of  elucidating  the  dependence  of  our 
mental  life  upon  natural  processes ;  but  natural  philosophy 
bas  to  remember  that  the  significancy  of  nature  lies  just 
here,  that  it  renders  conscious  life  a  possibility  to  the 
unconscious  mind,  and  contains  the  lowest  form  of  mental 
life  in  itself.     The  process  of  nature  is  the  hard  work  by 


^'« 


4 
I 


i 


Edward  von  Hartniann's  Philosophy,     277 

which  the  mind  comes  to  itself,  and  nothing  more.  The 
soul  is  the  centre  of  nature,  for  out  of  the  soul  as  The 
Unconscious  nature  streams  forth,  and  towards  the  soul  as 
conscious  she  ever  tends.  On  this  account  I  have  called 
my  philosophy  of  the  universe  noocentric,  inasmuch  as  it  can 
only  be  called  anthropocentric  provisionally,  and  faute  de 
mieux,  the  human  soul  being  the  highest  form  of  mind  as 
yet  known  to  us,  in  which  it  has  come  to  the  light  of  self- 
consciousness. 

From  the  above  fragments  which  I  have  culled  from 
Hartmann's  last  writings  on  the  philosophy  of  the  uncon 
scious,  the  reader  will  probably  be  able,  as  far  as  the 
untranslatable  German  barbarisms  will  permit,  to  gain  sonie 
idea  of  the  Weltauschauung  which  it  represents.  He  will 
see  that  '  The  Unconscious '  stands  for  what  we  should  call 
the  unknown  substance, — power,  life,  energy,  intelligence, — 
which  constitutes  the  whole  bei?tg  and  the  whole  working  of 
the  universe,  mental  and  material.  Previous  to  the  Dar- 
winian criticisms,  *  The  Unconscious  '  was  the  direct  agent  in 
shaping  the  phenomena  of  organism,  life,  instinct,  intelli- 
gence ;  now  these  are  mostly  referred  to  secondary  causes, 
and  The  Unconscious  stands  further  behind  the  screen, 
shaping  the  primary  laws  by  which  these  secondary  causes 
operate.  Schopenhauer  took  as  his  great  primary  agent 
and  essence  the  will ;  but  unhappily  the  will  severed  from 
thought  and  intelligence  appeared  to  others  a  very  insufficient 
agent  to  conceive  and  carry  out  all  wonders  of  creation, — 
indeed,  some  irreverent  critics  termed  it  das  absolute 
Dumme — the  absolute  and  eternal  stupid,  i.e.  blind  power 
without  thought  or  intelligence.  *The  Unconscious'  of 
Hartmann  can  hardly  be  termed  the  absolute  Stupid,  inas- 
much as  it  unfolds  itself  gradually  through  nature  from 
absolute  ignorance  up  to  absolute  wisdom  and  knowledge ; 
but  whether  the  'absolute  Stupid'  or  the  'absolute  Un- 
conscious' can  really  in  the  long  run  assume  the  place 
in  the  human  mind  and  soul  which  has  down  to  the  present 
time  been  filled  with  great  and  glorious  conceptions  of  a 
personal  Creator  and  a  universal  Providence,  does  not 
appear  to  us  a  matter  of  much  doubt.  That  our  theistic 
notions  change  and  develope  with  the  progress  of  science 


/ 


278 


Philosophical  Fragments. 


and  ethics,  is  a  fact  almost  self-evident ;  but  that  our  reason 
and  moral  nature  will  find  satisfaction  in  any  pantheistic  or 
semi-pantheistic  theories,  such  as  those  above  explamed,  or 
that  the  German  culture  which  has  evolved  them  stands  so 
high  above  that  of  other  countries,  in  which  the  practical 
belief  in  personal  Deity  still  prevails,  appears  to  us  to  be  the 
dictate  of  an  overweening  pride,  much  more  than  the  sober 
conclusion  of  a  reverent  and  truly  scientific  spirit. 


THE  END. 


